


don’t look at me like I’m acting hysterical

by ImTuna



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies, Fix It, Give me soft Micah or give me death, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, May change tags as we go, Swearing, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix It, Toxic Relationship, dont worry it gets better, i just think he’s neat, micah centric, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-26
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 25,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25523851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImTuna/pseuds/ImTuna
Summary: Micah has lived and learned. Waking up back in 1899, he has a chance to do things different. Shame a certain cowpoke has to get involved, as usual.
Relationships: Micah Bell/Arthur Morgan
Comments: 152
Kudos: 135





	1. He never forgot a jail cell

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from Sufjan Steven’s song America. Comments are really appreciated, and I’m looking for criticism in my writing! Everything helps uwu

Running wasn’t something Micah Bell was unfamiliar with. He’d spent his childhood at his father’s side, then his young adulthood jumping between gangs, trying to find the right mix of greedy outlaws and risk-takers. Never could seem to find the right ratio; either not greedy enough to get any good pay, or too risky where he was the only one left unchained within a month. Outside of gangs, Micah spent his time in forgotten bars and working mercenary jobs. Needless to say, running came easy to him. 

Nothing compared to this kind of running. It was all he knew. It was constant; he never stopped, didn’t even think to rest on account of the thing that was hunting him. 

He hasn’t gotten a good look at it, he didn’t need to. It was hungry, and desperate, and wouldn’t hesitate to rip him to shreds if it caught him. He could hear it sometimes: steel claws shrieking on the desert rock, cactus and brush cracking as it passed, if it was really close he could hear its breath. Hot and rotting. 

Micah’s knees and hands were sore and scraped from scrambling in sandy gullies and through thorny scrub. His nails were bleeding and his hair was plastered to his forehead. The sun was unbearable, too bright to get a good look at where to go next. Much too bright to try looking farther than a few paces ahead of him.

He didn’t have time to wonder about his situation. How had he got here, what was he doing before being chased by a beast. He probably couldn’t even recall his own name. None of that mattered in this Hell. His spurs spun on the hard ground, his hat long blown from his head. All he thought was a constant stream of ‘ow, ow, cactus, ow, wait wait no don’t slip ok no speed up keep going run run up this slide don’t slip climb up run faster.’

If he’d been in the right state of mind, he would’ve tried facing the beast. Trapping it somewhere or trying to find his guns. However, all that filled him was pure Fear. Single Minded, survival-or-nothing, adrenaline fuelled terror.  
He had just managed to fight his way out of another pile of desert brush when he was slammed into the ground. He felt a scream rip out of his throat as steel talons dug into his shoulders, going through his jacket and down his back like a hot knife through butter. Rows upon rows of burning teeth, bubbling drool and steaming breath hit the back of his neck when everything went red. 

———

Micah slowly started to pick up the familiar sounds of a busy town. The sounds of horses, workers, and wagons droned on over the faint sounds of a river. Closer, he picked up the sounds of footsteps above him, and once the telltale creak of an old cot somewhere even closer. 

When he finally decided to crack open his eyes, he hissed against the onslaught of sunlight, and recognized the barred window of a jail cell. Micah breathed with rested lungs and moved his healthy limbs, lifting his dirty but unbloodied hands in front of his face. He briefly considered it all a dream but dismissed it quickly; the terror was too real. 

Micah digged for memories, any recollection of why he was in that place, but what he got instead made his eyes sting. 

He had died; shot dead on a mountain top by Dutch and John. He could remember the cold clearly, even clearer was the scene as it slowly unfolded. Mrs Adler in his arms, more holding her up than keeping her hostage. John, calm and clear as water and steadier than ever. Dutch, weary and uneasy, nothing in his eyes and nothing to say. Micah wasn’t too surprised when he turned on him, but he was shocked to actually be shot instead of just monologued at. 

Micah was dragged back to the present when someone grumbled and spit next to him. He turned to see a man lifting himself from his cot and standing to take a piss in the pot in the corner. This was all familiar too. 

Micah, now with a clearer mind, looked around the cell of the strawberry jail. He recognized the man as the O’Driscoll he has been roomed with. He sat up as well, staring at the sunlit window.  
He was… alive. Not only alive, but back in West Elizabeth, back in 1899. That was the only explanation, he never forgot a jail cell, and he hasn’t been back in this one. 

Micah’s reverie was interrupted by spurs stomping down the stairs, the sheriff of strawberry meandering down to take a gander at his prisoners. The O’Driscoll groaned and sat down on his cot with a whomph as all the dust floated into the sunlight. Micah laid back down, throwing an arm over his face. He remembered this part clear as day. 

———

The sheriff and the O’Driscoll argued for damn near two hours. Micah had resorted to holding a pillow over his face, grumbling about it being too damn early. Now it was sometime past noon, and the two prisoners were eating out of cold cans as a deputy watched. Nothing tastes better than cold beans. 

Now that he had time to think about it, Micah had concluded that desert was hell. There was nothing worse than the unrelenting fear, the kind of fear that leaves you dizzy and single-minded. Even torture you get used to at a point, but nothing compares to being hunted. 

Secondly, he has been given a second chance. After he destroyed what remained of the Van der Linde gang, he began to realize he missed it. Even when Dutch joined him again, it wasn’t the same. The charismatic leader and devoted gang members were no longer, and as much as he tried he couldn’t inspire the same loyalty in his own gang.

Now he supposed he had a chance to be a bit more of a neutral party. 

It was all for survival, but looking back, he really didn’t have to go that far. He had dipped out on gangs with much more promise than the Van der Linde gang had. He really stuck through with it right to the bloody end. All seemed unnecessary, looking back. 

He was interrupted from his pondering by distant thunder, sitting up in his cot. Right, Arthur was going to come get him soon. Guess he should start yelling at the window, like he was doing last time. 

Something about being through literal hell made the usual bluster unappealing. 

Instead, he waited. The O’Driscoll grumbled something about boring bunk mates and rolled over to face the wall. 

Micah sat awake and listened. Eventually, when it was finally dark outside, he heard Arthur upstairs. His words were muffled, and he eventually left. Micah heaved himself up with a groan and made his way to the window. It was weird walking without pain when he had been running for what felt like eternity. 

After waiting and watching the rain for a few moments, he heard Arthur’s squelching footsteps as he approached. Micah watched as his brother in arms leaned next to the window.

Arthur sniffed and tipped his head to stare at Micah. “Thought you’d be pitching a fit by now.”

Micah let out a humourless laugh. “Just get me out of here, Morgan.” 

Arthur grunted and went though the familiar motions. Micah watched as he hooked the barred window, and he stepped back while the machine growled to life. 

His eyes met the O’Driscoll’s curious gaze. Micah suddenly remembered he had killed the man last time. Strange, it was such a split second decision he barely even recalled it. This time is hardly seemed the trouble, he hadn’t even talked to the man. 

Micah’s head snapped back to the window as it flew apart, he climbed out of the wall and watched as the O’Driscoll followed him.  
Arthur didn’t offer him a gun, and seemed surprised when Micah just began walking to retrieve his own revolvers.

Not much he cared about except those guns.  
He heard the O’Driscoll trot away with a confused sound from Arthur as the man turned to follow him. 

Micah led the way to Skinny’s place, and Arthur jogged to walk alongside him. “Micah, we gotta get out of here. The sheriff had to have heard that, we don’t have time to mess around.” 

Micah scoffed and glanced at Arthur. “I just need my guns, then we can get out of here. Trust me, I don’t wanna stay around here any more than you do.”

Arthur muttered about ‘trusting him’ as Micah took the steps up to the door and let himself in, immediately knocking Skinny against the wall with the door then his hands as he choked him out. Skinny struggled for a moment but slowly dropped, and Micah turned to the lady staring at him in terror. 

Micah gave her a toothy grin but left her alone as his hands found his gun belt, pulling it on and turning to leave. He slammed the door behind him and made his way halfway down the stairs when Arthur’s stare stopped him. 

Arthur’s face was a mess of confusion, determination, and the familiar apprehension of expecting lawmen. He shifted his weight back and asked, “why didn’t you kill her?”

Micah narrowed his eyes. “How did you know she was there?”

The men stood there for a few more moments in the rain and mud before Micah slowly took the last few steps onto the street.

“... Blacklung?”

Arthur grabbed the front of Micah’s shirt and threw him to the ground, standing on either side of his legs as he growled “Bastard.” And heaved him up, then drove him into the ground.

The breath left Micah’s lungs as he was slammed into the mud, and fought the urge to grab his revolver and press the barrel into Arthur’s guts. Instead he gripped Arthur’s wrists, breathing heavily as the gears in his brain worked. 

Arthur lifted him and shook him again, face shadowed in rage as he spoke “I knew something was wrong when you weren’t yapping in your cell. Damn you, God damn you!”

Micah let out a hysterical laugh, “Wait, wait, you’re really- you really know what..?” He fought to find the words to ask if Arthur knew everything that had happened. 

Arthur slammed him into the ground again, “Yeah, yeah, I know what you are, you damn rat! I know what you’re gonna do, and I’m gonna stop you right now.” with that, Arthur lifted him again, one hand reaching for his gun and the other fisted in his shirt. 

Micah’s eyes widened and he shook his head, speaking shakily, “Nooo, no, just hang on a second, Blacklung.” He was surprised to find Arthur stop with his hand resting on his schofield.

Micah gave him a watery smile and grunted as he tried to get his feet under him, but Arthur shook him again and Micah met his eyes, “you gotta be crazy if you think I’m gonna waste a damn moment listening to you.” Arthur growled. 

But still Arthur made no move, and Micah tested his luck. “I’m sorry.”

Arthur stilled, bewildered as Micah stuttered on. “Yeah, really. I’ve had a long time to think and I realized I had a good thing going with you boys. Things were never the same, even with Dutch.”

Arthur’s brows furrowed and he bared his teeth, dropping Micah into the mud with a grunt, “I’m supposed to believe that?”

Micah let his head drop as he muttered, “No, not really.” Arthur scoffed and took a few steps back, leaving Micah the room to get up. 

Micah hesitated, lifting his head and staring at Arthur. “I’m serious, Morgan. I really… well I don’t wanna say regret… but I really didn’t think things were gonna turn out that bad. I thought we’d just get a little more greedy and then we’d stop hiding all the damn time.”

Arthur let out a wet cough and shook his head. Micah wondered briefly if the man was already sick when he heard a distant shout. 

Micah turned his head to find the sheriff of Strawberry and his deputies lifting their guns. Micah scrambled to stand as Arthur swore, dragging Micah up and ducking to run across the bridge. 

Micah ran after him and thought darkly about how he was running again, skidding to a stop behind a few crates while Arthur traded a few shots with the lawmen. He whipped his gaze around as Arthur let out a sloppy whistle, the man never could whistle clearly, and the sound of thundering hooves answered. 

Micah skittered around the corner of a shop to meet the horses, finding himself unexpectedly emotional to find Baylock’s bright eyes following him. Baylock had always been a good horse, all the way to the end. He wondered what had happened to the horse after his death. He hoped he hadn’t starved. 

Baylock was young again, head held high against the sound of bullets as Arthur followed, hopping up onto his old paint walker from the Adler’s barn. 

Micah heaved himself up into the saddle, his muddy backside slipping in the saddle as he spurred Baylock into following Arthur, who was already streaking out of the town. 

Micah shot at the lawmen pursuing them until he couldn’t hear their shouts, but Arthur pushed them down the road a few minutes more until he began to slow, patting his walker’s neck and muttering assurances to the shaking horse.  
Baylock was steady as always, but Micah still took a moment to dig his fingers into his mount’s mane, to comfort himself more than his horse. 

The men walked their horses until they reached a crossroads, Micah slowed Baylock to a stop and Arthur followed his lead, twisting in his seat to fix Micah in an unreadable stare. 

Micah stared back for a moment before speaking, “Guess I’ll see you later.” 

Arthur scoffed, turning his horse to face Micah better, “What the hell are you talkin’ ‘bout?”

Micah stretched and dug his hand into his saddlebag, wrestling for his hat as he stated the obvious, “I gotta go rob that stage for Dutch; your memory as bad as your lungs?”

Arthur’s face darkened as he growled, “Shut it, I’m fine. And like hell im leavin’ you on your own out here. No, you’re comin’ back to camp where I can keep an eye on you.”

Micah mashed his hat onto his head as he grumbled, “What, I’m your bitch now? You gonna watch me all day to make sure I don’t step out of line?”

Arthur’s face didn’t change as he spit out a venomous, “yeah.” 

Micah glared for a moment before heaving a dramatic sigh, gathering his reins and fixing Arthur with a more relaxed stare. “I’m really tellin’ the truth. I’m not gonna try anything.”

Arthur shifted his seat to stare Micah in a calculating stare, chewing the inside of his mouth.

“When’d you die?”

Micah let out a shaky breath and was dumbfounded to find it come out as a faint fog, as if the landscape around them was covered in snow. Arthur let out a single bark of a laugh, “yeah, that happens. Whenever I think too hard about last time I start coughin’. D’you freeze to death or somethin’?”

Micah scoffed, another faint cloud appearing, “Huh, last time. Strange to look at it that way.”  
He closed his eyes and shook his head, a few more clouds escaping before he spoke, “No, I didn’t freeze. I was hiding out on mount hagen when your Johnny boy found me.”

Arthur’s face went slack and he stared off into the night, muttering “John didn’t make it out..?”

Micah stayed silent because he really didn’t know, he hadn’t bothered to keep tabs on any of the old gang members. John hadn’t looked like he was running with a gang, but he did have Charles and Sadie with him. 

Arthur took a few wheezed breaths, letting out a muffled cough before rolling his shoulders, fixing Micah in a cold stare. “When’d you die? You said you had some time to think, and I wanna know if it was a few days or a few years.”

Micah shrugged, “1907. Eight years after you.”  
The fog from talking slowly disappeared from in front of him as Arthur nodded, letting out another soft cough. Micah leaned forward to rest his forearms on his saddle. “If I wanted the same thing to happen as last time, I would’ve shot you in Strawberry and tell them you died in the fight. I’m serious, I want things to turn out better this time, for everyone involved. I didn’t like ending up with a disloyal gang and a chamber of bullets in my chest.”

Arthur slowly nodded, his breath evening out and he met Micah’s eyes. “Fine. I don’t trust you, but I believe you. You’re still gonna come to camp with me and I’m still gonna keep an eye on you, but I might not put a bullet in your head.”

Micah grinned and tapped Baylock with his spurs, the horse ambling forward to walk next to Arthur. “That’s all I’m asking, Blacklung.”

Arthur grumbled and pushed his horse into a rolling canter, and the duo made their way to Horseshoe Overlook.


	2. The correct side of Arthur Morgan's temper

Micah had a rough adjustment period. Horseshoe Overlook was exactly as he remembered; quietly optimistic after Blackwater and the mountains. He tried to slip back into a toned-down version of the persona he had before, but it was difficult for reasons he couldn’t name.

He felt like a lit fuse, just waiting to hit the dynamite. He snapped at everyone within range, jeering and baring teeth at anyone who tried looking him in the eye. He often set himself at the table they played knife games at, near the hitching posts, just to taunt people as they moved in and out of camp. 

At other times, he stared listlessly into the fire for hours, barely lending an ear to whatever story was being told. His head was too full of ‘last time’ to make room for any of Bill or Pearson’s military stories. Arthur knocked him on the back of the head the first time his breath came out in a faint cloud. He started conveniently having a cigarette on his lip after that.

Late at night, when he was restless and sitting at the camp table, he sometimes let his anger simmer. Arthur doesn’t seem to be struggling. Arthur didn’t have to pay for his sins. Micah sat and stewed and chewed on matches until dawn, when the early risers woke to begin the chores.

Another thing that set Micah’s blood boiling was the fact that no one else remembered. Or at least, no one else told him. He had asked Arthur on the way back if there was anyone else and the man had just shook his head. For the first few days, Micah had let a couple overly-specific questions drop at the campfire. ‘Any of y’all been out east yet, to Rhodes? Sean, have you? No, no reason in particular, just thought you might’ve been there before. Your hair matches the dirt, ya’know.’

That night had earned him a nasty hit from Arthur that had his cheek bruised for a few days.

All in all, it’d been… uncomfortable, being back. particularly with a pair of eyes always burning into his hat. Whenever Micah caught Arthur’s eyes, he threw a dramatic ‘what are you looking at?’ gesture that involved a sneer and splayed arms. The way Arthur’s eyes grew dark and his lips curled in a snarl almost made the attitude worth it.

Micah had slowly been getting used to his new routine, lounging with his boots on the table and his hat over his eyes when the dappled sunlight was blocked by Arthur. Micah lifted his hat to take a look at the man and noticed the bandana already knotted around his neck. He grimaced and dropped his hat again. “I don’t need you to tell me to play nice while you’re gone.”

Arthur put his hands on his hips and shifted his weight. “You know I’m goin’?”

“You and John don’t plan quietly. Sean’s already snuck off to go meet you.”

Arthur let out a chuckle, speaking softly as to not be overheard. “Didn’t expect anythin’ different with ‘im. Was there last time too.”

Micah grunted in response. Arthur cleared his throat and Micah sighed, sitting up and putting his hat on properly. He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips in a ‘go ahead’ expression, wrapped up in sarcasm. 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You’re comin’ with me.”

“What.”

“I said I don’t trust you alone, and I meant it. Come on, gettup, I need’ta check the wagon ‘fore nightfall.”

Arthur turned and started walking towards the hitching posts as Micah spluttered behind him. Arthur called behind him as Micah stumbled out of his chair. “‘sides, since Sean is there too I need time to try and talk him into goin’ home.”

Micah let out an incredulous laugh and tripped trying to keep up with Arthur. He kept his balance easily, something that seemed to stick from the Desert, and plastered a disarming smile on his face. “You don’t really need me along, right? You can leave me here, I’ll be on my best behaviour. You can even ask Grimshaw to put me on dish duty if it makes you happy-?”

Arthur snarled, whipping around and pressing a finger under Micah’s nose. “Do not speak ‘er name, don’t even look’it ‘er. I’ll put you down faster than you could blink, is that clear?”

Micah slowly raised his hands, eyes wide and his smile dropped. He mentally smacked himself in the forehead; right, right, he had killed her. He considered pulling a ‘It’s all in the past’ card, but he wasn’t currently on the correct side of Arthur Morgan’s temper. He slowly nodded, pressing his lips together and stepping away. 

Arthur turned with a seething sigh and stalked towards the horses, Micah trailing behind. Arthur was off down the trail on his paint walker while Micah was pulling himself into the saddle, pushing Baylock into a canter to keep up.

Baylock seemed happy, despite the tense energy. Always happy to be out, his horse. Always keen and raring to go, no matter the circumstances. Eager, chomping at the bit and hungry for any ground he can eat up under his hooves. Bred for work, bred for running, no use trying to keep this beast tethered. 

Micah supposed he used to be like that too, but that last few years of his life had been harsh. Too many close calls, his own gang ratting him out too many times. Starting fresh with new members at least twice, after killing all the others for treason. The first few months after the Van der Linde gang fell, he had tried to coerce Dutch into inspiring another gang, but the man had been broken. 

Broken by him.

Instead, Micah was forced to step up and be the leader he was never meant to be, ending up bribing his men into staying when threatening them failed. He was good at manipulation, but not good enough to keep his gang from the brink of crumbling. He watched over his men as they fought like rabid dogs, himself just barely kept out of the fray as he tried to keep the illusion of a noble leader. 

Honestly, thinking back on it almost stung. It was humiliating, really. Spent his entire life following orders and when he could finally give the orders instead, he wasn’t strong enough to keep his own men in line. He hadn’t even noticed Dutch had slipped away. He was lucky enough to regroup with him a month or so before John had found him.

Before John…

“You been listenin’ at all?” Arthur barked from ahead of him.

Micah snapped his head up, Baylock snorted as the reins were jerked as Micah startled from his thoughts. Arthur was stopped a few strides ahead of him, turned around in his saddle and looking annoyed. Even his horse was flicking its tail in irritation.

Micah blinked dumbly before letting his gaze drift to the side, trying to recall what Arthur had been saying, if he had even been talking at all. 

Arthur let out a heavy sigh and clicked to his horse, continuing to trot down the road. “C’mon up alongside me, Guess I’ll explain everythin’ again.”

Micah sheepishly sped up alongside Arthur, eyes narrowed at his own inattention. “Ya done being mad at me?”

“No.” Arthur grunted, scratching at his beard as he stared resolutely ahead. “I was just going over what the job is. If you’d been paying attention, you’d know that we’re goin’ to use an oil wagon to make the train stop. I was just sayin’ how it all worked last time, so you’d kinda know what to expect.”

Micah let out a barely audible sigh. “Sure.” He drawled.

The duo made their way over the prairies, Arthur outlining how the robbery should go down. Micah found his attention slipping once or twice more, before Arthur decided to just give up.

Micah stared at Arthur’s horse, narrowing his eyes. Arthur didn’t keep this horse last time, he had traded it out for a handful of different horses; he was always a little annoyed to find a new one at the hitching posts. He couldn’t even recall the horse he had kept in the end. “You gonna keep this horse?”

Arthur hummed, patting the mentioned animal’s neck. “Ain’t sure yet. Thought I’d try him out a bit longer.”

“You didn’t keep him long last time.”

“I know. Didn’t think Sadie wanted to see him around.”

“She don’t mind?”

“She hasn’t said anythin ‘bout it yet.”

“... What’d you name him?”

Micah was pleasantly surprised to watch Arthur’s face flush. The man hummed again, looking away. “Ain’t named ‘im yet.”

Micah scoffed and kicked at Arthur’s foot, earning a growl. “C’mon, Blacklung, yes you do. You’ve always named your horses the second they show up in camp, I hear you tellin’ Jack how to spell ‘em.”

Arthur grumbled. “Yea, ok fine. His name’s Fleance.”

Micah wrinkled his nose. “Why would you name him after a flea?”

“What-? No! He’s named after a character from a Sheakespearean play- ah who cares, you don’t read Shakespeare.”

“And you do?”

“... Well, no, but Dutch used to read it to me when he ran out of other classics.”

“How interesting.”

“Shut it.”

The two continued on a few paces in silence. Micah watched as the trees grew thicker, and the grass more vibrant. “So why Fleance?”

Arthur mumbled under his breath before speaking quietly. “You wouldn’t get it. It’s symbolic, or somethin’. Means somethin’ to me.”

Micah decided to drop it. Almost. “Fine, but I’ll get you to tell me eventually.”

“Sure.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna try and keep chapters short and sweet so i can get em out quickly. 1500 to 2000 words should do, for now. Once again, your comments fuel me! thank you to yall who left em on the first chapter <3 <3 <3


	3. By all means, he shouldn't be nervous

Micah could almost cry when faced with Sean’s lack of shooting skills. He stood, watching with a hand over his mouth as irish and blacklung traded a few jibes, Sean still focused on trying to hit the bottles. 

“I can see.” Arthur deadpanned as Sean missed miserably, bullet lodging into the rotten wood of the ruined shack. 

“Besides, what do you care, Englishman?” Sean turned to Arthur, standing stiff. “You got no time for me. I tried to find you work, but then you’re off cuttin jobs with other folks, and your boy Sean doesn’t get a look in.” 

Arthur stepped closer, glancing at the pristine bottles being used for target practice. “Guess I don’t wanna get shot, that’s all.”

Micah let out a stifled laugh at that, and Sean reloaded his revolver as he hissed, “Ah, real fuckin funny. You traded me out for this bastard, then?” He gestured to Micah with the barrel.

Micah sneered, “At least I can shoot straight. I ain’t too surprised that you ended up gettin’ caught, now that I’ve seen what you can do.”

Sean’s face grew red and he looked like he was about to blow when Arthur put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t pay him any mind, I just brought ‘im along so he couldn’t harass Bill into stranglin’ ‘im. Who I didn’t bring along was you. What you doin’ here?”

Sean holstered his gun and stood defiantly, turning away from Micah. “I’m here for the raid you’ve got cookin’. You’re gonna need more guns to take on that train, and I’m here to help ya out.” The younger man let out a laugh as Arthur sighed, letting out a soft cough.

Micah decided to let Arthur handle this as he wandered to lean against a tree. He pulled out his revolver, cleaning it mindlessly as he watched the two outlaws argue. He was nervous. By all means, he shouldn’t be nervous. He was never nervous before a job. Anticipating, and tense, and full of energy, sure, but not nervous. 

He watched, mind elsewhere, as Arthur walked around the wagon. Sean trailed behind him, yapping, as Arthur checked the wheels and fittings on the horses. Micah fidgeted, feeling more restless as the sky grew dimmer. He snarled quietly to himself; what’d got him so worked up?

He checked his revolver once more, noting that Arthur had settled down and pulled out his journal. Sean had gone to set the bottles up straighter, and Micah huffed to himself. Might as well make the irish useful. 

Micah pushed off the tree, holding one of his revolvers loosely in his grip. He wandered over to where Sean was already shooting, muttering swears under his breath. Micah noted that Sean grew tense as he came nearer, until the blond was standing just at his shoulder, watching.

Finally Sean let out a grunt and stood straight, glaring at Micah. “What’chu want, ya oily turd?”

“Nothin, just watchin’” He replied nonchalantly, tilting his head. “You ain’t standin’ right.”

Sean scoffed, nudging Micah a few steps back. “I didn’t ask for your opinion, ya- ah, where ya from? I wanna know how to insult your bloodline.”

Micah kept balance easily, taking a step closer to Sean, but not as close as he had been. “Dad’s from Hell, born and raised. I want to make sure you get this right, I ain’t lookin’ forward to a bullet in the knee cause you can’t aim for shit.”

Sean grumbled, dropping his aim. Micah waited for a reply, but when none came, he lifted his revolver to the bottles. He was good at what he knew; He shot down three bottles in quick succession. He was proud of his sharpshooter abilities.

Sean let out a breath, eyes wide. Micah resisted the urge to smirk, he’d already shown off enough, and instead set his sights on the remaining bottle, taking note how the sunset slid through the green glass, the light dappling on the old wood. 

Micah glanced at Sean, who was watching with rapt attention, for all his snarky attitude. Micah tried to recall what his father had taught him, when he was only six. “You usin’ a single or double action?” 

Sean looked at his cattleman revolver before holding it up so Micah could see. “Single action.”

“That works. Doubles are faster, though, might want to consider switchin’ if you get good enough.”

Sean scoffed and Micah smiled, looking back at the bottle. “Now, you ain’t doin anything wrong yet, so at least I don’t gotta train it out of you. You gotta stop turnin your elbow like that, just hold straight and steady. And don’t bend your knees so much.”

Sean mirrored Micah, looking over his shoulder as he adjusted to match the older man. Soon he was standing the same, and Micah nodded, dropping his arm.

Micah holstered his gun and walked around Sean, kicking his boots to straighten his feet. “Looks good. Now, you gotta actually aim. Start by looking at the inside line of your elbow, and follow your arm down to your thumb. Make sure it's all straight, then line up the barrel. Since we’re so close, you can point right in the middle, but in a shootout always blot out the head with the barrel; better chance of hittin’ them in the head or neck.”

Sean huffed, shifting his feet. “You’re talkin to me like I ain’t ever held a gun before.”

“I’m teachin’ you how I was taught, now stop twisting your elbow or you won’t ever shoot right.”

Sean growled, straightening his arm and setting his eyes on the bottle. Micah let his gaze wander past the target as the irish grumbled, his own eyes setting on Arthur. The man was still sitting at the back wheel of the wagon, not dropping his journal but was watching with a pensive expression.

Micah didn’t have time to worry about it when the quiet was interrupted by the sound of a shot and shattering glass. Sean let out a hissed “Yes!” and holstered his gun, turning to Micah with open arms and a wide grin.

Micah grimaced as an arm was thrown over his shoulder. Sean laughed and walked them over to the wagon. “Ya’know, I think I was wrong about you, Bell. You ain’t as crooked and mean as I’d thought!”

Arthur laughed softly as Micah grumbled and fought to get out from under Sean’s arm. As he threw the limb off him and pushed a laughing Sean away, he heard a muttered, “What the fuck are they doing here?” 

Micah was glad both Arthur and Sean turned to look at the newcomers. As soon as he heard John’s voice his breath came out cold enough he could feel it on his nose. 

Ah, that’s what he was nervous about.

The idea of facing John, and Charles, to an extent, left him feeling… uneasy. He patted his pockets and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it quickly. He turned to find Arthur glancing at him and Sean already babbling and climbing onto the wagon.

John looked pissed. Understandable, considering Arthur had brought two of the most impulsive members of the gang along. Micah puffed on his cigarette, breath coming out in a mix of smoke and cold haze.

Charles stared steadily onward as John growled to Arthur, “I didn’t think this was a suicide mission. Are you serious, bringing these two hotheads?”

Arthur shook his head. “It’s fine, they’ll behave. Won’t you, boys?”

Sean let out an enthusiastic “Yup, o’course, english!” from the bench as Micah grumbled a “Sure, Morgan.” as he moved to climb onto the side of the oil tank.

John sighed and stalked away to climb onto the other side, and Micah was grateful. He didn’t know how he could keep John from noticing the cold breath on his shoulders. At least he didn’t even see Charles last time, when they came to kill him.

He took a drag from his cigarette and let the butt drop onto the ground as Charles hung off the wagon in front of him. This was gonna be a long ride. 

“Gentlemen!” Arthur called as he sat himself in the driver’s seat. “Let’s go earn some money.”

Micah hung on to the cold handle of the wagon, making sure to keep clear of accidentally bumping into Charles. He heard the man ask something about the horses, stating they should follow behind them. Micah wondered briefly if he should’ve just rode alongside them.

Micah was uncomfortable even looking at John for too long. He knew he shouldn’t be; the John from 1899 didn’t hold much of a vendetta against him, but he still found his skin crawling whenever he met the man’s eyes. He could avoid him easy enough in camp, but out here it was different. 

Speaking of the devil, John turned towards Micah and frowned. “So why’re you here? I know Sean just showed up, annoying bastard that he is, but I didn’t think you’d be jumping to join a job like this. You usually lean a bit more towards the ‘guns blazing’ part of our work.”

Micah felt a chill run down his spine as he plastered a fake smile on his face. “Oh, you know Morgan’s obsessed with me. He dragged me here; needed my expertise.”

Arthur glanced at John before his eyes returned to the road, flicking the reins. “That’s not what happened. I didn’t wan’ him pissin’ people off when I’m not there to drag ‘im out of a fight. Javier was close to snappin’ his neck last night.”

John let out an agreeing hum, turning to Sean as the irish started complaining about being left out of the planning. Micah heard Charles mutter something about the youngest man’s incessant talking and he couldn’t help agreeing.

He listened to Sean yip for the next few minutes until they reached the train track. Arthur had gone over the plan on the way, and Micah was to stay on the ground with Charles to keep an eye out for runners. Arthur had told him on the way to the wagon that last time, lawman had shown up suspiciously fast. Micah took his job without argument; the farther from John, the better.

The men stopped the wagon and unhitched the horses. Arthur looked over them as he chased one of the horses away. “Mr Marston, Mr Smith, Mr MacQuire, Mr Bell.” He gestured to the nearby woods, “Get over there. When she slows, board her.”

Micah began to stalk into the safety of the trees when Sean piped up, “And you?” causing Micah to look back. Arthur was staring resolutely down the tracks. “I’m gonna make sure she slows.”

Micah shook his head as Sean laughed. “It’s do or die with you, I like it.” Micah let out a quiet, “Are you kiddin’ me?”

Arthur looked over the two and swatted at them, turning towards the wagon. “Get movin’.”

Sean and Micah obeyed without another word, scurrying into the woods to meet with John and Charles. Micah leaned his shoulder against a tree, pulling his bandana over his face. He watched with narrowed eyes and shuffling feet as Arthur stood atop the oil wagon, slowly being bathed in the train’s light. 

Micah saw him differently then, for just a moment. This was no longer a nagging mother, waiting to cuff him over the ear for every misstep. This wasn’t a judge, this was an executioner. This was a man who had seen his family ripped from him, and now had a chance to make it right. Arthur stood strong, unyielding against the harsh light, eyes blazing behind a dark mask, readying his repeater. Micah felt fear, knowing he was responsible for this man’s pain. He vowed to be more careful around Arthur.

Soon enough the train stopped, the engineer stomping to meet the obstacle. Micah growled, cutting Charles off from his course to stride towards the engineer, sending him down with a smack to the side of the head from his revolver. Arthur’s burning gaze slid past him as he moved down the train, leaving Micah to circle the train cars.

Micah kept one eye along the tracks, looking for any figure to try dipping into the night, and another eye on the figures of Arthur and John inside. He could hear John demanding valuables and the people in the train crying. He followed them down the car, sneaking a few glimpses of Charles on the other side doing the same. He glanced behind him frequently, but no one tried running.

Soon Arthur broke away to meet up with Sean. He had been briefed on this moment too; the young man getting a nasty blow to the head. Arthur had said he was going to join him early this time, and to make sure nothing happened to John in his absence. 

Micah grudgingly watched as John continued down the aisle, the golden light of the train car casting John’s shadow onto the gravel. Soon enough Micah heard gunshots; guess they found the baggage car.

John’s head shot up, collecting valuables and cash with haste. Micah walked a few paces ahead, meeting with Charles in the gap between cars.

Charles had his sawn-off unholstered. “Trouble?”

“Don’t think so.” Micah stepped away from the car, peeking along the flat cars to the source of the noise. “Doesn’t look too bad yet.” 

Charles hummed and stepped onto the platform, meeting with John in the last car. Micah left them to stalk forward, alongside the flat cargo cars to meet with Sean.

He met with the man outside the baggage car. “You alright?” Micah asked.

Sean scoffed shakily. “Yeah, ‘m fine. Just got a scare trying to get in ‘ere. Arthur’s just clearin’ the loot now.”

Micah grunted and crouched to mirror Sean on the other side of the doorway. He heard Arthur rummaging around as he kept an eye on the trees. 

Sean shifted uneasily. “We should be gettin’ out of here soon.” He muttered, loud enough for Arthur to hear. 

Micah heard Arthur make a noise of agreement, but he didn’t join them yet. Micah unholstered his second revolver and glanced at Sean. The kid seemed to have a good sense of risk, despite his personality. If he was getting nervous, they shouldn’t be here.

Micah growled, snapping his head around to look into the doorway. “We gotta get gone, Blacklung!”

Arthur slammed the lid of a chest shut, tucking valuables into his satchel. “You seein’ anythin’ yet?” 

“No.”

“Then quit yappin, we’ll make it.”

Sean adjusted his grip on his gun, looking even more nervous. “You think someone’s comin’?”

Micah scoffed, standing to glance around the car into the night. “Always someone comin’, kid. Keep your eyes on the trees.”

Sean gulped and turned back, holding his revolver a little higher. He sucked in a breath as soon as he set his eyes on the woods. “Two riders.”

Arthur strode onto the platform, crouching alongside the other two men. “See anyone else?”

“Just the pair of ‘em.”

“There’ll be more.”

Micah muttered to Arthur, low enough Sean didn’t think to listen. “We runnin’?”

Arthur hummed. “No, not quite.” He crawled forward, ducking behind a crate and holding a hand up to Charles and John, who were watching intently.

“You men come off the train now, do you hear?” one of the riders called. Arthur cleared his throat, or was that a cough, gazing at Micah.

Arthur held his Schofield up high. “Bell, you take the one on the right. Once they’re down, get gone behind this car, the horses are waitin’.”

“We said, you men come out, now!” the other rider called. Arthur straightened and leveled his Schofield, Micah popping up to do the same. Twin shots rang out, the two riders dropping in sync. Instantly there was an uproar from the trees, more lanterns appearing.

Micah pulled Sean with him as he dropped off the car onto the gravel. He let out a piercing whistle, hearing the horses thundering towards him from the front of the train. Arthur thudded beside him, John and Charles running ahead to meet the horses.

As soon as shots started ringing out, Baylock found him. Micah threw himself up into the saddle, ducking over his mount’s neck as he traded shots with the lawmen. 

“Let’s go- stay with me!” Arthur called, spurring Fleance into running up the hill. Micah grunted, kicking Baylock into following as he heard the others fall in behind him.

The group shot at any lawmen they met, galloping over hills and through dried river beds. Their horses huffed and snorted, Micah trusted Baylock enough to stay with the others. He dropped the reins and used both revolvers to shoot at the men chasing them.

Sean whooped and shot with him, while the others led the charge, needing three sets of eyes to make heads or tails of what the horses could cover in the dark. The last thing they needed was one of their mounts tripping. 

They made their way to the top of the hill overlooking dewberry creek. Arthur slowed Fleance, spinning around to look at the others. Micah holstered his guns, drawing in a deep breath as the buzz of fleeing drained away. 

Sean let out a long laugh. “That was fun, boys. Real fun! I can see why they call you the professionals of the outfit.”

Arthur tossed each member their share, rolling his eyes. “Shut up.”

“At least we made some money. And what did I get? Gotta be a hundred dollars here; very nice!”

Arthur leaned forward, fixing Sean in an amused glare. “And you weren’t even invited.”

Sean laughed, counting his money as John broke in. “What now?”

Arthur shrugged, sitting up straighter. “Not as nice of a take as I’d like. We need somethin’ bigger.”

Micah rolled his eyes as John continued, “Was that a set up? Law turned up real fast.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. They looked like locals anyway, nothin’ more. Wrong place and time, ‘s all.”

John didn’t seem satisfied with that answer. “I hope so. I’m gonna head into Valentine, see if I can get somethin started there.”

Arthur sat up straight, gathering his reins. “Sure, go safe. The rest of you, back to camp. You know the deal; don’t be followed.”

John shot him a glance at the change in his brother’s usual attitude towards him, but trotted off regardless. Charles and Sean went the opposite way, Sean throwing back an “Ah, of course not, boss.”

Micah walked Baylock to Fleance’s side as the others rode away, listening to their hoofbeats growing quieter. “Hm, well that turned out fine.”

Arthur sighed, rubbing a hand on his face. “I dunno. ‘Specially with another person to cut in, we didn’t get much. I basically turned that baggage car upside down, lookin’ for anything I missed last time. Found some, but not much.”

Micah leaned his forearms on the pommel of his saddle. “Didn’t think you’d be so concerned with our money situation this time.”

Arthur shook his head, reaching into his satchel. “Not the gang’s; mine.”

Micah’s eyes widened as Arthur pulled something shiny out of his bag: two jewelry bags filled with gold, a few shiny belt buckles and a beautiful, shimmering gold bar. He almost felt his mouth water.

Arthur let him look then returned them to the bag, pulling out his journal and writing something down on a page already half filled with numbers. “I’m tryin’ to get enough to get out of here. Take anyone willin’ to leave the life and go back west, try to find some land for sale. Like we should’ve been doin’ the entire time.”

Micah shook his head to organize his thoughts and stared at Arthur. “You just gonna leave Dutch? What about Hosea; you know he won’t go.”

Arthur hunched his shoulders. “I gotta try. If I don’t try to change anything, what good is it bein’ sent back here?”

Micah scoffed. “‘Sent back’? What, you think you’re here for a reason?”

Arthur stilled, putting his notebook away. “What do you mean? I know I am.”

Micah opened his mouth to ask what the hell he was talking about when Arthur clicked to Fleance, trotting back in the direction of camp. “It don’t matter, I don’t even know why I told you.”

Micah shut his mouth and Baylock walked after Fleance without any prompting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yall got my heart goin <3 <3 <3 Extra special chapter for you today; just under 3500 words and a couple hours early, too! Yall earned it, bein so nice in comments. I get so happy seeing a new one, I love hearing your excitement and what you're wonderin about. Keep the comments comin, and I'll keep the chapters comin. <3


	4. Slipped too far into old habits

Camp was quiet when Arthur and Micah returned. The sky was properly dark now, the fire burned low and nothing stirred. Micah could see Charles and Sean quietly bunking down after an exhausting night, he assumed John was doing the same in his tent.

The duo were quiet as they untacked their horses, methodically pulling down their saddles and blankets, brushing their hands over their mount’s legs as they checked for injuries. Arthur stayed a few moments longer, brushing and muttering to Fleance as Micah turned Baylock out with the other horses. Micah hovered around the other man for a moment before wandering over to the provisions wagon.

He picked through his options in the dark silence, hand drifting over different canned goods before picking up a can of peaches. He padded to the camp table and pulled out his knife, cutting open the can and stabbing a peach slice.

He had just started his snack when Arthur joined him, grabbing his own can and mirroring Micah across the table. Micah watched Arthur peel at the label depicting a fresh strawberry. Arthur cleared his throat quietly, opening the can and swirling it around.

“You did good today.” Arthur spoke soft enough that his voice seemed to blend into the other noises of the night. Micah hummed, trying to quiet himself enough to reach the same tone. 

Arthur took a swig of his canned strawberries, and Micah couldn’t blame him. The strawberries were always more syrup than solid. 

Micah was glad that Arthur was talking to him; really talking. The first few days had been tense between the two, Arthur unable to see Micah as any different from Beaver Hollow. Understandable, considering how for Arthur it hadn’t been nearly as long since then as it has been for Micah.

Micah pondered that for a moment. How long had Arthur been here already? Micah sat in his jail cell for the better part of a day.

He looked up from his peaches and nodded at Arthur, still trying to speak softly. “When did you wake up? After last time, I mean. How long have you been here?”

Arthur tapped his can as he thought. “I gotchu the same day. Spent a few hours panickin’, and planning. How ‘bout you, how long were you in Strawberry?”

“Same as you, I think. Woke up that morning.”

Arthur hummed, taking another sip of his strawberry drink. Micah stabbed another slice and chewed on it, trying to think of ways to bring up Arthur’s stash.

Arthur beat him to it, peeling at the label again. “I don’t want you goin’ around tellin’ people about my plan, ‘aight?” He spoke coldly.

Micah let out a low chuckle. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Blacklung.”

Arthur scoffed softly and kicked at Micah under the table. “You still callin’ me that?”

“Yeah. Gets you mad.”

Arthur let out a small smile and looked down into his strawberries. Micah sipped at the syrup sitting in his can.

“You think Dutch will actually let you leave? Especially with the others.”

Arthur sighed, his hands stilling. “No. I’m still tryin’ to think of a way to get through to him.” He lifted his hat with one hand, running his other hand through his hair. “I wanna convince him to come with me.”

Micah stayed quiet. 

\------

The next morning Micah tried to catch Arthur alone. He had done some thinking after the other man had gone to bed, and decided to help support Arthur’s plan. He didn’t dare hope to be included in the escape; he wouldn’t fit the lifestyle anyway. Either way, he hoped that if he contributed to the funds a little bit, he might get on Arthur’s good side.

Micah’s eyes peered out from under his hat. He was leaning against a tree near the west edge of camp, his back to the drop. He watched as Arthur wandered around, greeting his family and waiting for breakfast. Javier was poking at something sizzling over the fire, a flat bread loaded with peppers and eggs. He had a stack on a plate already made, but a few of the less adventurous members of the gang were cooking their own breakfast.

Looks like Arthur was going to try one of Javier’s flavourful concoctions. Micah watched as the man chewed for a while, before laughing and going in for another bite. Must not be too bad.

Micah waited a while longer, until after breakfast and Arthur was striding to the cliff’s edge as many of the gang’s members did. The view was beautiful. Micah pushed off the tree and sauntered over, standing alongside Arthur’s shoulder.

Arthur glanced at him, a surprised look on his face. Micah sorted through his thoughts, and Arthur gave him the silence needed. 

“I’ve been doin’ some thinking recently.” He started. 

“Uh oh.” Arthur broke in, a smile twitching to life on his face.

Micah tried to keep his volume low as he snarled. “You want me to tell you or not?”

Arthur chuckled, hooking his thumbs on his belt, staring out at the river. “Sorry, go ‘head.”

Micah huffed, trying to find the words he wanted to say.

“I’ve been thinkin’ that I wanna help you get out.” He spoke softly. “I originally thought I should just try to keep the gang together, but I think we both know that ain't gonna happen.”

Micah let there be quiet for a moment as he let Arthur think. The faint sounds of camp droned on behind them as Arthur nodded, and Micah continued. 

“You mentioned once you knew you were here for a reason. I don’t know if I got a reason, finding I don’t know much of anything, actually, but if you think getting your people to safety is what you need to do, I’ll do what I can. Just say the word.”

The men were quiet, cool summer air blowing in from the river. Camp was slow today; some of the men had taken the women into town to blow off some steam and celebrate the successful robbery. It’d be rowdy later tonight when they returned, but for now the only ones left in camp were the quieter figures of the gang. Abigail called for her son and he responded across the camp, Grimshaw was speaking to the reverend, and Sadie was staring into the fire as Javier strummed his guitar. Micah closed his eyes and let the breeze cool his face.

Arthur slowly sunk down, sitting with his legs straight and leaning back on his hands, face tilted into the sun. Micah stared at him until Arthur met his gaze, raising an eyebrow. Micah glanced around before dropping to the grass next to him, one leg hitched up with his elbow resting on it. Micah watched the sun glitter off the river and listened to the birds sing.

Arthur’s voice was soft, almost revering when he spoke. “I know it’s what I need to do because I was told.”

Micah let that sink in as he split a blade of grass on his thumbnail. 

Arthur had a soft smile on his face. “‘Fore I woke up here, I was in a beautiful place. A desert, with white sand. Reminded me of the sand on Guarma, without the water or bugs. I was alone for a while, but then I saw this huge stag. I’d seen ‘im a couple times before, last time. When I started gettin’ sick, I’d see ‘im in dreams.”

Arthur paused, letting out a cough. He took a moment to heave a few wheezing breaths, closing his eyes and tilting his head into the sun.

“I saw ‘im in that desert a few times, eventually I started following ‘im. Then chasin’ ‘im. Probably spent an eternity runnin’ after ‘im. Didn’t stop for breaks, didn’t need to. I eventually caught up with ‘im, grabbed his antler and he didn’t even try to run off. We just stared at each other ‘till he spoke.” Arthur continued. “He said to me, ‘I’m giving you a chance to change what torments your mind. Do not waste it.’ And that was it. Next thing I knew I was staring at the canvas of my wagon.”

Micah had torn a piece of grass to shreds while listening, his eyes never leaving the river. He dropped the shredded plant and wiped his sweaty palms on his thighs. “You think that was heaven?” He muttered.

Arthur closed his eyes to the sun again. “I think so. Somethin’ like that, anyway. Couldn’t replicate the feelin’ if I tried. Pure peace.”

Arthur opened his eyes and looked at Micah, who refused to meet his gaze. “Were you there? In that desert?”

“No, not that one.”

The men fell silent again as Arthur understood what he meant. Micah wanted to share something too, to repay Arthur for his own words, but couldn’t bring himself to talk about it. About being hunted like that. Not sure if he ever could.

Micah turned to look past Arthur at Jack. The boy had wandered to the cliff and was holding a stick absentmindedly. Arthur followed his gaze. They quietly watched over the boy, making sure he didn’t wander too close. Soon his mama came and scooped him up, both of them giggling as Abigail carried him back towards the camp.

Micah stood and walked back to camp, leaving Arthur to his thoughts. 

\------

Micah was generally an unliked person, so avoiding people was easy. He got too nervous talking to John, Charles, or Sadie. It was a little harder when the people he wanted to avoid sought him out.

First time Mrs Grimshaw caught him by surprise, calling out, “Mr Bell, if you don’t do these dishes I’ll make you carry them into town to wash in the horse trough!” The warning Arthur had given him flashed through his mind as his gaze darted around camp, trying to pick out the other man. Thankfully, he was preoccupied at the hitching posts, talking to the O’Driscoll. 

Micah grimaced and scurried over to the provisions wagon, a bucket of warm, soapy water already waiting. He grumbled as Mrs Grimshaw tutted around him as he dropped the first of the metal bowls into the mix.

Mrs Grimshaw eventually left, running after John when he walked by with a head of hair that was greasy enough water would slide right off. The pair squawked at each other as John tried to escape, Arthur conveniently walking past Micah’s work. Arthur stifled a laugh and leaned on the wagon, meeting Micah’s glare.

“Didn’t hear you kick up a fuss.” Arthur commented, picking up an apple and shining it on his shirt.

Micah let out a dark laugh. “Wouldn’t dare, not after you made your stance against my attitude towards Mrs Grimshaw very clear.”

Arthur shrugged, biting into the fruit. “D’you blame me?”

Micah dropped his head, muttering a quiet “No.” He scrubbed at the metal harder. 

Arthur stood silently for a beat, before holding the apple out to Micah. “Wanna bite?”

Micah looked up, then down at his sopping, dirty hands. He leaned over and bit into the fruit, straight from Arthur’s hold, resisting the temptation to bite his finger. Perfectly crisp.

Arthur’s face split in a grin as he laughed, gripping the apple as Micah took a chunk. “Ok, sure, that works too. Not like you could’ve just dried your hands off.”

Micah laughed around the mouthful, continuing his work.

Arthur hung around a few moments longer, watching the camp around him before he wandered off.

\------

Micah was walking past the ammunition wagon when he saw Arthur sitting on his cot, coughing lightly. He diverted his course and leaned on the wagon. “You sick already, Blacklung?”

Arthur shook his head, warding off another cough. “Shut it, no, just thinkin’. I’m not getting sick this time, I’m making sure of it.”

“How’d you even get it last time?”

“Fella I collected a debt off. Man named Thomas Downes.”

“The do-gooder in Valentine?”

“That’s the one.”

Micah let out a slow chuckle, understanding dawning in his eyes. “Is that why Strauss has been harassin’ you?”

Arthur rolled his shoulders. “I’m just tryin’ to put it off till he dies, is all. Can’t be much longer. TB is a hell of a disease.”

Micah hummed, staring out into the camp. He pretended not to hear him as he mumbled. “Not gettin’ sick this time. Not again.”

\------

The first time Micah tried talking to Dutch was a shitshow. Micah had been walking past the man as he read under his awning, and Dutch called him over. Micah felt the hair on the back of his neck rise as he stepped under the canvas, being faced with one of the men who shot him.

Dutch prattled on about plans and whatnot while Micah looked for an excuse to leave, but soon found himself slipping into the old routine. Soon the two of them were discussing how to properly sneak through a crowded theatre to find a specific target, Micah perched on the crate beside Dutch’s chair. Completely meaningless conversation, Micah had no plans of following marks into theatres, but he would often debate these things with Dutch. Helped his cause to agree with his leader, helped build confidence in risky plans and solidified his trust.

Micah was wondering if he had slipped too far into old habits when Dutch’s gaze slid past him. “Sometimes you just need to- Oh, hello son.”

Micah felt a hand grip the collar of his jacket and he was yanked off his seat, yelping as Arthur stomped through camp. Micah tried to keep on his feet but was mostly dragged out of camp, dozens of eyes on him as they disappeared into the brush. 

Micah’s chest was seized in fear as he gripped the wrist dragging him. He felt twigs snag on his jeans and his spurs spun in the dirt until they broke out of the plants, Arthur thrusting Micah forward onto the train tracks.

Micah looked up to meet the man’s furious gaze. Arthur’s eyes burned like the breath of the beast, teeth bared and stalking forward to take up the familiar position of interrogation.

Micah didn’t fight it, scraping his heels on the gravel as Arthur lifted him by the collar. He blurted out a “Please-” as Arthur lifted a fist. Arthur’s growl almost made his teeth rattle. 

“Why were you talkin’ to Dutch?” He asked plainly.

Micah let out a very nervous laugh. “Just talkin’, Morgan. Really, I ain’t tryin’ anythin’, I swear.”

Arthur faked a blow and Micah was almost embarrassed by his flinch. “Talkin’ ‘bout what?”

“Just hypotheticals, I wasn’t even the one talkin’, mostly, I was just listenin’, you know how he gets.” Micah pleaded. “C’mon, let me go. If I was gonna try somethin’ like that I wouldn’t have done it in the middle of camp, you know that.”

Arthur snarled, “I don’t know anything!” letting his fist fly, and Micah saw stars.

Seemed Blacklung still had a temper. 

\------

Micah avoided Arthur for a few days after that, nursing a black eye and bruised jaw. He could hear the gang whispering; they’d all seen Arthur drag him into the trees like a starving wolf with a rotting corpse. He let them, didn’t have the energy to bother.

Arthur stewed in his rage for a while before slowly coming around. Soon the two were sitting together at meals again, and Micah would join Arthur sitting against a tree, cleaning his revolvers while the other doodled in his journal. Occasionally one or the other would go on a job somewhere, or Arthur would go wander like he always does, but if the two were ever in camp they tended to gravitate toward each other. Old Souls, and all.

Micah and Arthur were sitting together, Arthur napping in the grass and Micah perched on a nearby rock when John approached. Micah tilted his hat back to get a better look at the man who kicked his sleeping brother’s foot. Arthur woke with a snort and looked at John, bewildered. 

John had a scowl etched on his face. “What’s going on with you two?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick lil reprise from the usual drama, a few scenes that had been bouncing in my head. relationship building! John is Here! Your comments make me go HSGDH <3 <3 <3 its almost embarassing i get so excited when i see one i love yall sm pls enjoy ur dose of cowboy


	5. So you killin’ for pleasure again?

“What’s gotten into you two?”

Micah glanced at Arthur before shrugging, going back to cleaning his revolver.

Arthur still looked a little dazed, but managed to shoot his brother an annoyed look. “You woke me up to ask that?”

John scoffed, folding his arms and kicking Arthur again, lightly this time. “C’mon, we’ve all noticed. You’re usually at each other's throats. Arthur, you hate Micah.”

Arthur grumbled and sat up, rubbing his face. “Didn’t take you for the gossipin’ type.”

John stood silently, sternly. Micah felt a chill run down his spine, reminded of the John that had shot him. Though as the silence went on, John started to become uneasy; shuffling his feet and his eyebrows drew lower. The John Micah knew wasn’t hesitant whatsoever. 

Finally John threw up his hands. “Well? What happened? Why’re you two such good friends now?”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Why you care so much?”

John gestured between the two men. “It’s weird. You ain’t ever liked Micah, you and Hosea would beg Dutch for hours to find a way to let him go.”

Arthur scoffed, laying back down and tipping his hat over his eyes. “We don’t got the time to be grousin’ on eachother. We got real work to do.”

Micah felt smug as he wiped a ratty rag over his revolver’s barrel. Sure, it wasn’t like Arthur had explicitly said he didn’t hate Micah anymore, but he hadn’t agreed with John. 

John fumed for another moment before stomping away. Arthur let out a slow sigh. 

Micah raised an eyebrow. “He been bugging you about that lately?”

Arthur grumbled and shrugged, his hat still over his face. “Kinda. Never that blunt ‘bout it, though.”

Micah hummed, but kept silent, looking out at the tree tops. The rock under him was warm from the sun. 

Arthur spoke again after a few minutes. “I’m tryin’ to be nicer to him, I forgave him the first time around, but I find myself slippin’ into old actions. Slippin’ into who I was before. Sometimes I find myself believin’ in every word Dutch says, like last time.”

Micah stilled, mulling over the other’s words. “I understand. I find myself in the same situation, sometimes. I just get so angry, or I want to skip out on donating to the box again. I don’t mean to, it just happens.” Micah paused, a smile pulling at his moustache. “Guess that didn’t really help to hear, huh.”

Arthur let out a soft laugh. “Ain’t that the truth.”

Micah chuckled lowly with him, then they fell silent again. The birds sang around them.

Micah drew in a slow breath. “Let’s make a deal. If I see you slipping, I’ll try to talk you out of it if you do the same for me.”

Arthur lifted his hat, staring at Micah with one eye. Micah met his gaze, unwavering. 

Arthur let his hat drop. “Deal.”

\------

Micah was having a bad day. Usually he could curb his temper, but today was different. Maybe Bill stepped too close to him at the fire, or maybe Hosea caught him slacking one too many times. 

No matter. He was mad. Not the ‘Don’t talk I’m angry’ type mad, he was the ‘leave camp for a few days or else I’ll pick out every insecurity you know of, then some you don’t’ type mad. 

Micah was currently lurking around Dutch’s tent. He needed to let off some steam before he killed someone. What better way to do that than to kill someone?

Finally he spotted Miss Molly O’Shea leaving the back of the tent, and he ducked in behind her. Dutch sat on his cot, reading a book. 

Dutch was surprised to see the blond man. “Micah. What can I do for you?”

Micah knew he looked a sight. A sneering, simmering mess. But he held a wicked grin on his face. “I’ve heard rumours of Colm O’Driscoll.”

For some reason, Arthur had untied Kieran Duffy without any prompting. Most likely due to some guilt over the man's death. At least that left Micah an opportunity. 

Dutch slowly closed his book, his eyes gleaming. “What have you heard?”

Micah grinned, pulling a small stool up to sit in front of the man and holding his hands in front of him. “He’s holed up at Six Point Cabin, north of Valentine. It might be old news, but at the very least we could find an O’Driscoll to tell us where he’s headed next.”

Dutch rubbed a forefinger on his chin, considering it. “Where’d you hear this?”

Micah shrugged, a lie already picked out. “Beat it out of the O’Driscoll back in Colter. I didn’t believe him, like you said, all he’d tell us is lies.”

“Why do you believe him now?”

“We’re just sitting here, Dutch.” Micah sneered. “Making no money, and making no progress. Let me do something, Boss! Someone needs to contribute around here.”

Dutch sat silent, thumbing the closed pages of his book. Micah tried another approach. 

“We could end years of fighting, right now. This isn’t an opportunity I’d want to pass up.”

Finally Dutch laughed, throwing up his hands. “Right you are, Micah. This isn’t something to squander.”

Micah silently cheered as Dutch stood, sauntering over to the camp table where Bill and Sean sat, both silent as they ate. Ravenous appetites, those two. Surprised they weren’t fighting for the other’s bowl. 

Micah stood behind Dutch as the two men eating looked up at their approach. Dutch smiled and clapped his hands together. “How would you two like to rid the world of that filth that are the O’Driscolls?”

\------

Six Point was a bloodbath. Between Bill’s repressed rage and Sean’s hatred for the O’Driscoll name, the two were decent firepower. Micah, however, had been unhinged. Blasting O’Driscolls in the face whenever he could, and often pulling out his knife to mutilate their heads and neck when he couldn’t be bothered to reload. 

Micah didn’t feel much better after. He was tense and buzzing with energy. But now he had blood under his fingernails and that reminded him of a desert he didn’t want to remember. 

After the raid, he had wandered around camp for a few hours, poking at everyone’s tempers until one of the girls started crying, and the men in camp had told him in no uncertain terms to fuck off. He had sniffed and stomped away, jumping on Baylock and heading for the river. 

Now he crouched at the river side, trying to scrub the blood off his shirt. He wore his jacket unzipped over his bare torso to ward off the spring chill as he dunked his button up into the rust-coloured water. Hard to know if you’ve gotten all the blood out of a red shirt. 

The water was finally starting to run clean when he heard hoofbeats behind him. He kept his head down, trying to look unassuming when he heard the creaking leather of someone dismounting. 

He looked over his shoulder at Arthur, scoffed when he saw a look of concern on the man’s face. Micah turned back to his task, scrubbing harder. “What do you want?”

Arthur’s feet crunched on the gravel as he moved to stand next to Micah, looking at the blood seeping into the water. “That O’Driscoll blood or yours?”

“I made it down here, didn’t I? O’Driscoll.”

Arthur let out a sharp hum and sat on the rocks next to him. “Remember our deal?”

Micah slowed his work, glaring at the water. “What?”

“Our deal. If you slip, I talk you back.”

“I ain’t slipping.”

Arthur scoffed. “So you just murdered a bunch of O’Driscolls for nothin, then?”

“Not for nothing. They’re O’Driscolls.” Micah sneered. “Killin’ them’s a pleasure.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “So you killin’ for pleasure again?”

Micah growled and scrubbed harder. He didn’t want to answer that. 

Arthur let him wash his shirt for a moment before mentioning. “I saw Miss Tilly cryin’ before I came down here.”

“That so.”

“Sure. Anythin’ to do with you?”

Micah considered lying but he knew Arthur was only going to get angrier. “She just wouldn’t leave well enough alone! Just had to talk back, all of them do. Can’t keep their pretty little mouths shut.”

“Those girls got more reasons to run their mouths than you do, you sour old prick.”

Micah let out a surprised laugh, wringing out his shirt and holding it up. “Maybe you’re right.” He stood, old knees protesting as he walked to a nearby river bush, throwing his shirt over one of the limbs to dry a bit more. 

He stood for a moment, staring at the shirt before he spoke. “I don’t know what happened. Just needed to hurt someone.” He muttered. 

Gravel crunched as Arthur stood, walking over and placing a tentative hand on Micah’s shoulder. “It’s okay. I guess you’re right; better to go after O’Driscolls than someone in camp.”

Micah relished in the feel of Arthur’s hand before shrugging him off, turning to stare at him. He let out an exaggerated sigh, tipping his hat back as he ran a hand through his long hair. “I guess you’re right too. I might’ve been slipping a little.”

Arthur smiled, clapping Micah on the arm before moving towards the horses. “Good. Now you can apologize to Tilly.”

“Oh Hell, no.”

\------

“I need a haircut.”

Arthur’s head snapped up from his journal. Micah and him were sitting at the scout fire outside camp, resting on the goat hides Arthur had skinned and tanned a few days ago. “What’d you say?”

Micah huffed, pulling his legs closer to himself. “Nevermind.”

Arthur marked his spot in his journal. “No, I heard you. Just wondering why; you’ve always had it long.”

“I didn’t, actually. I cut it short a few years before… Well. You know.”

“Right.” Arthur muttered. “You gonna go into town?”

Micah laughed. “Hell no. I ain’t having a stranger with a razor that close to my face.”

Arthur hummed and the pair went back to what they were doing. 

\------

The next morning Micah groggily made his way to the provisions wagon. The eggs the women had sizzling were tempting, but he was still on sensitive terms with Tilly. 

He grumbled as he picked through the dried meat. He chewed on a piece of jerky as he moved to the campfire, but Arthur intercepted him with a grin.

Micah couldn’t help returning the smile. “What’s got you so happy this morning?”

Arthur laughed and placed his hands on Micah’s shoulders, steering him towards the table near the hitched horses. “Was thinkin’ about what you said last night.”

Micah hummed inquiringly, scarfing down the rest of his jerky. His face dropped when he was met with Miss Grimshaw, holding a clunky pair of metal scissors and a towel draped over one shoulder.

Miss Grimshaw was humming and inspecting the scissors as Arthur dragged Micah towards her. Micah started laughing nervously. “Oh no, Blacklung, Didn’t you say I should stay away from her?”

Arthur shrugged, tightening his grip as Micah started to dig his heels in. “Sure, but I’ll be right here to make sure you don’t do nothin’ stupid.”

“It ain't me I’m worried about. What if she decides to get her revenge? Those scissors look pretty nasty.”

Arthur scoffed, causing Miss Grimshaw to look up. “She ain’t gon’ hurt you, you cry baby.”

Miss Grimshaw let out a haughty laugh, pulling out one of the chairs. “You’ve got nothing to worry about from me, Mr Bell. If I was gonna kill you, I wouldn’t do it so publicly.”

Arthur barked a laugh, Micah echoing it shakily, and pushed the blond into the chair. Micah clutched the seat as Mrs Grimshaw removed his hat.

The first few snips were nerve racking. Micah was convinced that everytime she moved a hand over his head it was to plunge the metal blade into his skull, or when she gathered his hair it was to yank him out of the chair. He felt his hands shaking and forced himself to keep his head and shoulders still, in case she wanted to stab him for moving too much.

Micah growled softly, digging his nails into the wood of the chair. It didn’t make sense to be afraid of her. An old woman, who had crumpled under a shotgun blast like anyone would, had wormed her way into Micah’s mind. It was completely irrational, she didn’t know what he did. She couldn’t possibly deliver her revenge.

And yet he was sure he was sitting in front of the judge, awaiting a beheading. He held a hand under his nose to conceal the cloud of frost.

Arthur sat down across from him, the mid-morning sun lighting his face perfectly as he smiled, but the smile fell when he saw Micah’s scared expression. Arthur leaned back, looking as though he was just getting comfortable when in reality he pressed his boot against Micah’s own.

The contact caused Micah to jump, which Mrs Grimshaw tutted at and held his hair a little sharper. “Don’t move.” She snapped.

Micah hummed a shaky confirmation and moved the toe of his boot into Arthur’s ankle, pressing his hand harder under his nose, feeling the cold on his fingers. Arthur started up a conversation with Mrs Grimshaw, something about the work ethic around camp, and Micah was grateful for it. Kept her attention off him, anyway. The contact with Arthur helped too, keeping his attention off her.

Soon enough the torture was over, and Micah sprang from the chair. Mrs Grimshaw huffed and muttered as she gathered all the fallen hair clumps, moving to throw them in the fire. 

Micah ran a hand through his hair, and found it chopped short. Arthur stood in front of him and stated appraisingly “Looks good.”

Micah nodded, smoothing his hair back and placing his hat on his head. The fear hadn’t left his system yet, and he pushed past Arthur.

Arthur caught his hand and Micah stopped, but continued to stare at the ground. 

“C’mon.” Arthur muttered, almost sounding nervous. 

Arthur led Micah out of camp, and they leaned on the rock outside the entrance. Micah’s breath was wreathed in frost. He let out a shaky sigh and sunk to sit with his back to the sun-warmed stone, cradling his knees to his chest and burying his face.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think-”

“Drop it. It was nothing.” Micah snapped, muffled by his legs.

Arthur pushed himself onto the rock, sitting so he could see the brim of Micah’s hat. “It wasn’t nothing. I didn’t know you’d be…” He paused, sorting his thoughts. “... Scared of her.”

“I wasn’t fucking scared! She’s an old crone with a bad attitude, not a deranged drunk.” Micah whipped his head around to glare at Arthur, baring his teeth. “There was nothing for me to be afraid of.”

Micah’s head snapped back and he buried his face into his knees before Arthur could reply. Seeing the man’s face full of concern and guilt (and possibly pity) soured his stomach. 

“Just leave it, Blacklung.” He muttered. “I’ll be fine.”

A few minutes later Arthur slid off the rock. Micah listened as he moved closer, then crouched down and placed a hand on Micah’s shoulder. Micah raised a hand to cover Arthur’s, but didn’t lift his head.

A few moments later Arthur stood, slipping his hand out from under Micah’s, and he listened to the twigs cracking under his feet as Arthur walked back to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GAH! SORRY! I've been on vacation, then I had to recover from vacation. Didn't have a lot of time to write, and we didn't have wifi for the most part. just wanna say, I won't ever abandon this without warning. I'll let yall know if I aint feelin it anymore lmao  
> Anyway, I couldn't remember what the next mission was so i just wrote! the boys! doin things! Next chapter will have more Stuff, dont worry.


	6. Typical bar hijinks ensued

Micah watched as Arthur trotted out of camp on Fleance, Jack held tightly on the saddle in front of him. The two were headed down to the river for some fishing, at the insistence of Abigail. Arthur had been dreading this; he’d told Micah of how the pinkertons catch them. He’d mentioned how unsure he was, of if he should try to avoid them or if he should let it play out.

Micah was glad he didn’t have to worry about things like that. He eagerly left all the worrying to Arthur. The man had tried explaining it once, brought Micah an old book of Hosea’s and the two of them opened the page titled ‘The Butterfly Effect Theory’. Honestly, thinking that hard hurt Micah’s head. Arthur seemed concerned, so Micah had reassured him that he had it all under control and beat a hasty retreat.

Now it was midday, mid spring, and Micah was starting to feel the pinpricks of boredom. Luckily, there was a certain redhead bouncing around camp.

Micah watched Sean float around, talking and laughing with everyone he met. He and Lenny argued about the importance of reading, He and Javier sang a few songs, He and Pearson debated the proper seasoning for tonight's stew. Watching him was almost exhausting. 

Surprisingly, Sean made his way over to Micah. Micah was leaned against a boulder with his back to the cliff that bordered the camp. Sean ginned and leaned against the same rock, bumping shoulders with Micah. Micah reminded himself to smile back as he cleaned his revolvers.

“Finally left on your own, eh? Arthur decide you can take care o’ yourself yet?” Sean laughed, a grin still stuck on his face.

Micah echoed the laugh, adjusting the rag to a clean corner as he worked on the chamber. “Looks like he’s finally let the leash have a little slack.”

“What’s got him so far up your arse anyway? He ain’t ever been one to care ‘bout what you get up to, so long as you leave ‘em alone.”

“I ain't got a clue.”

“Well, he’s doin’ somethin right! You’re much easier to get along wit’, now that Morgan’s mellowed you out.”

Micah snarled, pointing his empty revolver into Sean’s guts. “I’ll show you ‘mellowed out’ if you keep that up.”

Sean just laughed harder, swatting at the gun and nudging Micah’s shoulder. “Ah, I’m just jokin’, just jokin’, you’re very scary. Anyway, wanted to ask if you’d wanna come drinkin’ tonight?”

Micah blinked, his work on his revolver slowing. “Drinking?”

“Yea’, wit’ me, Lenny, Javier, a few others. Been gettin’ borin’ round here, and I got tired of Lenny’s stories of him and Arthur.”

Micah felt a surge of indignation fill him. “Lenny and Arthur, huh?”

“Ah, you haven’t heard? Right when Lenny came back to camp, screamin’ bout you gettin’ arrested, Dutch ordered Arthur to go get Lenny a drink to calm him down. Apparently, that night was wild!” Sean laughed. “Been itchin’ to go do somethin’ like that myself.”

Micah hummed, opening the chamber of his revolver to work gun oil into it.

Sean whistled a small tune before bumping shoulders again. “So, you comin’? It might help to have someone who can back us up if somethin’... Interestin’ happens.”

Ah, there it was. He just needed someone who could throw a punch. Micah scoffed quietly. “Sure, sounds like a party.”

Sean grinned, pushing off the rock and back into camp. “I’ll come find you when we’re leavin’ alright?” He bounced off without waiting for an answer. 

\------

Micah killed time for a few hours, till the sun was starting to dip behind the distant river, turning the water blood red. He was reminded of when he was down there, rinsing blood out of his shirt and Arthur had talked him back out of dark thoughts of last time. He wondered where Arthur was; it was getting close to the kid’s bedtime.

Speak of the devil, Fleance poked his nose out of the bush surrounding camp. He walked through, revealing a sleeping boy and a very tired-looking Arthur. Micah watched from across camp as Arthur swung down, balancing Jack as the boy snored softly, and handed him to his mother.

Arthur walked calmly across camp, but Micah could see the stress through his shoulders. Must have met the Pinkertons after all. Arthur hesitated outside Dutch’s tent, most likely waiting to be invited in, before moving the tent flap aside and ducking in.

Micah sighed and stretched, wondering if he should try and sleep when someone snuck up behind him, tapping his shoulder. 

Micah jumped and whipped around to glare, but Sean quickly made a ‘shush’ gesture, even going to cover Micah’s mouth, which he quickly batted away. “Seems your master is back, eh?”

Micah scowled, but kept his voice down. “He ain’t my master, you creep.”

“Would he let you leave wit’out him?”

Micah thought for a moment, glancing at Dutch’s tent. “Probably not.”

“Then let’s go.” Sean snickered. “Now, ‘fore he comes back out.”

Micah felt a thread of excitement creep up his spine as he followed Sean around the outer edge of the camp. Micah noticed there were a few horses missing as he tacked up, probably Lenny and Javier and whoever else.

Micah had one foot in Baylock’s stirrup when Dutch’s tent flaps suddenly opened, and Arthur’s eyes met Micah’s. He watched as those blue eyes went from confused to understanding to furious in a second.

Sean barked with laughter, screaming “Run for it!” as Micah threw himself into the saddle, feeling a twinge of real fear as he sent Baylock running after Ennis and Sean. He found himself laughing along with Sean as they burst from the trees, barely slowing down to meet Javier and Lenny on the road.

“Took you long enough.” Lenny said, smiling.

“Oh, he decided to come along after all.” Javier muttered.

Sean kept Ennis running. “C’mon, you should’ve seen Arthur’s face! He’s pissed!”

Javier and Lenny spurred their mounts after them in a hurry, all of them laughing. 

Sean glanced back at Lenny and Javier. “Where’re the others?”

Javier called from the back, holding a hand over his hat as the wind whipped around them. “They went ahead; didn’t think Micah was gonna come.”

Micah laughed. “That almost hurts my feelings, greas- Javier.” Ugh, good going. “I meant Javier.”

Javier blinked, seemingly surprised. Lenny cut in “Good thing we waited. Couldn’t leave you alone with Sean, with no one else to talk to.”

Javier laughed over Sean’s ‘Hey!’ from in front of Micah. “Yeah, wouldn’t want you going deaf before you got there!”

They laughed over Sean’s spluttering as they rode to Valentine, slowing down at the railroad. Micah kept an eye out for Arthur, in case he decided to gallop down the road and drag Micah back kicking and screaming.

The sun had sunk below the trees, casting the dark sky in a burnt orange glow as the small group swung down from their saddles, throwing their reins over the hitching post. Their horses were well trained enough they didn't need to be tethered, and a tied rein could get you killed if they had to make a run for it. 

Micah’s boots sunk into the disgusting mud of Valentine’s street. He muttered, stomping his boots on the stairs as Sean led the way inside, already calling to whoever was in there.

Smithfield’s Saloon was packed. Sean was already running to the bar, ordering a drink and leaning against Karen, who looked as though she’d been here for a while already.

Great. Micah’s only friend- no, not friend. Micah’s only ally was already preoccupied with someone else. Now what?

Javier and Lenny led the way to the bar, and Micah found a spot next to Bill, who was laughing at nothing. Micah watched the bartender, who was busy filling drinks for the new arrivals. Raucous piano music played under the hum of conversation, every floorboard was shifting under his feet, and Micah was starting to wish he was somewhere else.

Bill finally noticed Micah was there and laughed louder, slinging an arm around him. At least he wasn’t pissed yet; Bill was often an angry drunk. Micah gave a tentative smile at the bartender when he finally made his way to his end of the bar.

Micah ordered a whisky, speaking made difficult with Bill’s arm tightening around his neck and shoulders. When his drink was placed in front of him he prodded Bill back with a hiss, and Bill leaned heavily on the bar.

“You actually showed up, huh? Thought Morgan would’ve kept you for himself.” Bill slurred, swirling the last of the drink in his glass.

Micah scoffed, sipping his drink. “He’s not my boss, dunno why everyone thinks that.”

Bill barked a laugh, tipping the rest of his drink down his throat. “Really? He’s been tailin’ you since he broke you out of Strawberry.”

“Well, sure, he just doesn’t trust me. Not surprised, you know he don’t much like me.”

Bill had already turned his attention back to the bartender. “Ay, barkeep! Another drink!”

Micah muttered and downed his drink, asking for another when the disgruntled bartender came to fill Bill’s glass.

He had just taken a sip when Sean stumbled over, already half soaked. “Ey, boys!” He laughed. “Look, look I don’t want you two fightin’.”

Bill guffawed behind him while Micah rolled his eyes. “We wasn’t fighting.”

Sean looked surprised. “No? No, I know. I just meant, for future reference, huh? Bill, if someone pisses you off you take it outside.”

Bill was still laughing a little breathlessly. “Sure, unless it’s you I'm throwin’ punches at, huh?”

Micah sighed as the two threw a few jibes at each other before Sean slid towards the bar, sandwiching Micah between him and Bill. Micah muttered and took a gulp of whisky. 

Sean grinned, leaning into his shoulder enough to make Micah growl. “So, Bell. What’s goin’ on?”

“What you mean? You invited me here”

“No, no I mean…” Sean shook his head, both him and Bill giggling. “No, I mean between you and your keeper.”

“Arthur?” Micah clarified, which only served to make the two men laugh harder. Micah scowled. “He ain’t my keeper.”

Bill knocked him with his elbow, almost causing Micah to spill his drink. “Right, keep tellin’ yourself that. He don’t let you out of his sight!”

Sean snickered. “Yea’, and you should try talkin’ to him if Micah’s gone to take a piss! ‘Hey, you seen Micah?’ this, or ‘Gotta go keep an eye on him.’ that.”

Micah’s blood bubbled. Was Arthur seriously talking to people like that? No wonder everyone treats him so weird.

Sean suddenly laughed and kicked around Micah’s legs at Bill. “Oi, lookit his face!” Bill slid around to face Micah and let out a howling laugh, causing Micah to scowl more.

Micah downed his drink. “Fuckin’ bastard, didn’t know he was bein’ a dick.”

Bill barked at the bartender, who was getting increasingly annoyed at his subtle way of asking for drinks. “Another whisky, one for each of us!”

Micah slugged his entire drink, earning a small ‘whoop!’ from Sean when he slammed the glass on the counter. “Well next time that bitch Morgon does that shit, tell ‘em I’m my own man and I can do what I want!”

\------

As Micah was now three drinks in, typical bar hijinks ensued. Most of them he stuck to the sidelines. 

Micah had watched as Karen and Tilly, who he hadn’t noticed was there, challenged some of the other bar patrons to an arm wrestle. Of course, all the roughened and emotionally stunted cowboys of Valentine lined up. Micah watched them all as they were decimated, even pitched in a few coins to the betting pool Sean had set up. 

Micah chuckled when Javier started spouting spanish, as he often did when too drunk. Javier’s eyes completely lit up when some dirty old construction guy responded in kind, and the two threw spanish at each other all night.

Micah even had to drag Bill outside when things were getting a bit too heated between him and another patron. Micah stood on the stairs outside as Bill paced the street, bellowing about how ‘he looked at me funny!’ and trying to push past Micah. Eventually, when Bill had cooled off Micah led the way back inside, knocking out the guy when he immediately threw himself at Bill, screaming.

Micah even found himself in the center of the action, dragged into a circle of people by Lenny who had gained a nasty bruise on his forehead. “Micah, you gotta do this for me.” He begged.

Micah glared at the skinny man who stood, triumphant in the middle of the cleared floor. “What, you want me to fuck ‘em up or somthin’?”

“What? No. Where’ve you been?” Lenny muttered, pushing Micah to stand in front of Scrawny. “It’s a contest.”

Micah was about to ask what the fuck was going on when Lenny retreated into the circle of people. The crowd laughed as Lanky suddenly folded, kicking his feet into the air.

“A handstand contest?” Micah asked, incredulous. He downed the rest of his drink (Was this five or six?) and tossed his glass behind the bar, resulting in a shatter and a yelp from the bartender. 

Micah tossed his hat at Sean, who was so drunk he couldn’t stop giggling. “Ok, sure. Someone help me get my feet up.”

Eventually, after kicking Bill in the face and feeling a little bad about it, Micah stood on his hands, head hanging between his arms and facing Twiggy, who had a shit-eating grin on his face. 

Their feet were released and they were standing free. Micah kicked his feet a few times but managed to stay up, much to the crowd’s joy. Gangly kept perfectly still.

Soon, the room started to spin around micah. Ugh, he felt gross. Blood was rushing to his head. His neckerchief felt too tight, his coat had slid up around his shoulders. His arms were wobbly and numb, and worst of all, his stomach was bubbling something fierce. 

The crowd blurred around him as the room swayed, and he even heard Lanky say something to him when vomit spewed out of his mouth, hitting Slim right in the face and knocking him back with a scream.

Micah fell to the ground soon after with a groan, and the crowd was roaring with laughter and jeers. He felt someone pull him up, and he wiped his mouth on his coat sleeve.

Sean was already shrieking “He won! He won! Theo fell down first, We won!”

Lenny, who had helped Micah up along with Javier nodded. “I guess, technically, Theo hit the ground first.”

“Fuck yeah.” Micah muttered with a burp. Bill was collecting money with a sneer from bets while Sean dropped his hat back on his head and steered Micah outside, away from Skinny- er, Theo’s increasingly aggressive squeals.

It seemed Tilly and Karen had left already, as their horses were missing when Lenny helped Micah into his Saddle. Lenny was the most sober, so he had to help everyone in turn as they tried crawling up their horses. Javier fell off Boaz, who let out a snort when the man fell into the mud. There was a chorus of giggles as Lenny helped Javier out of the mud and into the saddle.

Soon, they were off walking down the moonlit road towards camp. They were quiet, drunk, and lost in their thoughts as Lenny led the way, the only one coherent enough to trust himself not to walk right past the camp entrance. 

Do it now. Do it now. Do it now. Do it!

Micah cleared his throat, causing Bill to look up at him and Sean to let out a snort as he woke up from whatever doze he’d been in. Micah pulled at his neckerchief. “Hey, uh-”

Javier was listening now too, and he saw Lenny tilt his head while keeping his eyes on the road. Do it-!

“I just wanted to say I appreciate y’all invitin’ me.” Micah muttered. Sean grinned and looked like he was about to say something so Micah barreled on. “I’ve actually been tryin’ to be a bit more… likeable, these past few weeks.” 

Bill and Sean traded knowing looks and Micah growled. “It ain’t got nothin’ to do with Arthur, I’ve decided all my own I don’t like bein’ despised.”

The silence that blanketed them seemed screaming loud in Micah’s ears. Fuck, why’d he gotta ruin the trip home from a fun night-

Javier’s voice bubbled from near Lenny. “I’ve actually noticed. ‘M proud of you, Bell. Takes a lot to change a man like that.”

Bill snorted before Micah could reply, “Great, does that mean I’ve gotta clean up my act now?” He slurred.

Lenny scoffed. “Yeah, that might actually be nice, Bill.”

Sean grinned and nodded at Micah. “You keep bein’ ‘mellowed out’, we’ll keep takin’ you on these.. Eh, what’s Dutch call ‘em?”

“Bonding activities.” lenny offered.

“Bonding activities.” Sean echoed with a satisfied nod.

Micah chuckled, tilting his hat down over his eyes. “Yeah, sure. Sounds nice.” He said, mostly to himself.

The ride back after that was quiet, Javier and Sean giggling over the events of the night as they crept into camp, trying to be quiet as they untacked their horses.

Micah had just let Baylock out with the other horses when he stumbled onto the beaten-down grass of camp. He trudged through the camp, looking for a good place to conk out when movement caught his eye.

His breath caught in his throat as he spotted Arthur sitting on his cot, fixing him in a cold, waiting stare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, Bastard Boy needs some time to himself.


	7. Distant, blazing eyes

A shiver ran through Micah’s bones as Arthur slowly stood, half of his scowling face shrouded in dark as the other half was highlighted by the moon. Micah would’ve thought him beautiful if he wasn’t terrified.

Arthur marched forward, knocking Micah’s shoulder so hard he stumbled backwards. Arthur growled as he made contact, breaking into a rasping cough. He strode past Micah and into the woods, Micah drifting after him, holding his stinging shoulder.

Arthur led Micah out of the trees and onto the beaten path to the water. They walked in silence, apart from Arthur’s coughing, stomping, and Micah’s soft footsteps. Arthur was more tense than Micah had ever seen him, and he kept clenching and relaxing his fists. Micah’s heart rate sped up.

Soon enough they reached the cool, glimmering river. Micah could tell it was almost dawn, but the sky was still dark. Arthur stood stiff on the river rocks, breathing heavily and glaring at the water.

Micah’s hands began to tremble, and he felt his legs and boots tingle as though he’d been running through a Desert. His breath quickened, and when Arthur suddenly whipped around to fix him in a piercing glare his breath fell out of him in a cloud of frost.

Arthur strode forward, overtaking Micah’s backpedaling easily and seizing his shirt in both fists. Arthur forced Micah back and stepped over him, easily sliding into the role of interrogator. 

Micah’s breath clouded his vision but he still managed to make out Arthur’s enraged face, and his fear finally spilled out into words. “Wait-” He gasped. “Please, wh- hold on-!”

Arthur shook him hard enough to hurt his neck. “Shut it.” He uttered. “What’ve you been up to?”

Micah resisted the urge to grip Arthur’s wrists, and instead held his shaking hands up next to his head. His hat had been knocked off when Arthur grabbed him. “Just a drink.” He choked out.

Arthur tilted his head, lifting Micah menacingly. “Just a drink?” He inquired.

Micah nodded vigorously. “Mhm.” He forced himself to meet Arthur’s burning eyes. “Went with some of the boys- you saw ‘em come in, I’m sure.”

“Sure.” Arthur agreed, sickly sweet. His face twisted as he cracked Micah’s jaw, swift as a striking snake, forcing a groan out of Micah. Micah could barely focus as Arthur continued to interrogate him. “What’d you tell ‘em?”

“Tell ‘em?” Micah echoed, flinching when Arthur raised his fist again. “I didn’t tell ‘em nothin’, nothin’ ‘bout us or where- when we’re from.” He blurted. “Just told ‘em I’m trying to be better-”

Arthur struck him in the nose, causing Micah to yelp and tears to spring up in his eyes as his hands flew to stem the blood flow. “Bullshit!” Arthur roared, and through his tears Micah could almost see rows of teeth, rotting breath and hellfire-filled eyes. Arthur shook him again, causing Micah’s teeth to clack together painfully. 

Arthur jerked him up, pushing his face close to Micah’s as he snarled “I know what game you’re playing- the same game you always played! It’s always a goddamned game to you, that's all this is, huh?!”

Micah shook his head, blood from his nose splattering to the side, hands unknowingly gripping Arthur’s forearms. Micah could feel the man above him trembling. “You just went into town to sweet talk ‘em, yeah?” Arthur stated breathlessly. “You just wanna turn ‘em- turn ‘em against me-!”

Arthur suddenly drove Micah into the ground, forcing another cloud of haze from his lungs as he was ground painfully into the gravel. “You’re playin’ ‘em all, again.” Arthur snapped. “You’re just playing me- again- playing me for a fool- stop BREATHIN’ FOG ON ME!”

Arthur suddenly abandoned his hold on Micah’s shirt and instead planted a hand over his mouth, his other hand going to push just over his collarbone. An aborted shriek tried to escape Micah’s mouth, but Arthur tightened his hold. “You don’t got the right to even think about last time.” Arthur hissed, his eyes hazy and his teeth bared. “You ruined everything.”

Micah found it impossible to breathe through his broken nose and he was quickly panicking. His trembling hands squeezed Arthur’s forearms as the man above him leered silently with distant, blazing eyes. Arthur’s face was contorted into something ugly as Micah started beating on the man’s chest, writhing below him as his vision started to darken.

Micah’s eyes were darting as he began to dig his nails into Arthur’s hands and wrists. His mind went wild, part thinking of how to get out of this and another part readying himself to return to the Desert. He was tearing at Arthur’s skin now, tears welling in his eyes as his head felt lighter and lighter.

In a flash Arthur disappeared off of him and Micah drew in a ragged breath, twisting to cough up the blood from his broken face. Micah gaped at Arthur and muttered in a shaken tone “You- you almost-!”

Arthur was thrown on his ass, his legs splayed in front of him and a horrified look on his face. “Micah.” He breathed, and Micah’s eyes quickly narrowed, snarling at the man who dropped his head.

The two sat on the moonlit riverside, simply breathing. Micah dabbed a hand under his nose, finding it still bleeding profusely. He spit the blood still in his mouth into the grass and more quickly ran to fill the space.

Micah took a few more deep breaths before rolling to face Arthur. “Is that how you act when you start slippin’? Cuz if it is, I don’t think I wanna be ‘round you no more.” He muttered. 

Arthur just shook his hanging head.

Micah sat in the quiet, sucking his teeth clean of blood as it seeped from his stained moustache. “You can’t keep beatin’ on me like this.” Micah mumbled.

Arthur’s shoulders sagged further and he shifted to crawl forward towards Micah, hair obscuring his eyes.

Micah stiffened, kicking back a little as Arthur approached but ultimately let him close the distance. Arthur was close as he reached forward, dragging Micah into a hug.

Micah let out a shaky, frosty breath as he dropped his forehead onto Arthur’s shoulder. His blood was dripping onto Arthur’s shirt. He didn’t raise his arms to hold him back, and Arthur didn’t drop his.

They embraced for a moment before Arthur spoke softly “I’m sorry.”

Micah squeezed his eyes shut and Arthur continued “I know that don’t mean much with a bleedin’ nose, but I am. I don’t know what- what happened, I just saw you run off and starting thinking the worse- I just sat in my tent coughing, coughing so bad even Charles asked if I was alright.” Arthur tightened his hold and Micah squirmed. “I just started thinkin’ all these terrible things and kept wondering if you were gonna come back- and I didn’t know if I even wanted you to, and I kept coughing and Hosea kept looking at me like I was dying again-”

Arthur cut himself off with a gasp as Micah raised his hands, pulling Arthur in closer and nestling his face in the crook of his neck.

Micah just let his warm breath ground Arthur for a moment before speaking softly “We’ll be okay.” He felt Arthur’s head drop and he continued “I’m not going anywhere, for better or worse.”

\------

The sun was starting to drip it’s golden light into the sky when they slid through the trees into camp. Arthur’s eyes were rimmed with red and Micah’s face was encrusted with dried blood. Arthur had set his nose back at the river, but it still tingled numbly.

Camp was blessedly still as they drifted through like ghosts. Arthur moved to his wagon and Micah followed him unthinkingly, coming to a halt a few steps from the canvas.

Arthur glanced back to find him there, and fixed him in a tired but patient stare. Micah met his eyes and took a deep breath “I know you want me to pay for my sins.” He murmured, a match striking behind Arthur’s eyes.

Micah stood a little straighter. “But I’ve paid.” He growled. “I’ve paid twenty times over, first in an endless Desert, then at your hands, then at my own as I fuck up again and again. I’m fighting against everything we relive, and I’m getting tired but I keep trying to do better.” Micah’s face melted into a soft, pleading expression. “Please start trusting me a bit more. I can help you.”

Arthur blinked his glistening eyes and stepped carefully forward, dropping a hand on Micah’s sore shoulder and fixing him in a determined expression. The two didn’t say anything until Arthur moved back, his arm coming up to rub the back of his neck. “Get some sleep.” He rasped. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

Micah stepped away, walking into the sparse shade of the trees behind Arthur’s wagon to catch a few hours of sleep. He let himself drop, cradling his aching jaw and sighing as his bones cracked.

John’s job in Valentine hadn’t gone well last time. Arthur’s plan to fix it was going to take everything Micah could muster.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> real short one this time. Might try posting every two days from now on.  
> also I keep jumping back and forth on how these two treat eachother, but i think that's fitting. they have a lot of emotions, and they often find themselves lost in which timeline they're in, so they find themselves slipping but they both really, truly, care for eachother just a little bit because theyre both eachother's proof that the things that happened really did happen. If they didn't have eachother, they'd probably go mad.  
> also some of yall compared Arthur to a controlling boyfriend and honestly? absolutely completely accurate


	8. Thinking of Those Things

Micah blinked awake with a hiss, his body flaring with aches and pains. He sat up stiffly, working his jaw and stretching his arms over his head and letting out a yawn. He smacked the ground, trying to find his hat, dropping it on his head when he felt it.

He gingerly touched his nose with a wince, but his hand was unbloodied when he pulled it away. He took another moment to collect himself, staring at the trees surrounding him and listening to the birds before he stood, dusting off his pants.

He didn’t often sleep, and when he did it was only for a few hours, so his lack of rest was unconcerning. It wasn’t unusual for any of the gang members to sleep on the dirt, most of them only had a few pelts between them and the ground. Sleeping leant against a tree wasn’t new to Micah. Yet all the same, he walked stiff and sore, flexing his shoulder as he pushed past the shrubs into camp.

The sun was fully in the sky, yet it couldn’t be noon yet. Most of the gang was awake, trotting around, doing various chores. Breakfast had come and gone, so Micah trudged to the provisions wagon to grab something.

He was intercepted by someone smacking his shoulder from behind. He barely held back a groan as Sean bounced into view, the redhead’s greeting quickly cut off by a shocked gasp.

“Holy hell, what happened to you?” Sean wailed, reaching a hand towards Micah’s face. Micah scowled and batted him away.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” Micah laughed, reaching a hand up to feel the bridge of his nose. Now that he noticed, it was definitely warmer than was comfortable. The swelling wasn’t helping either. “It don’t hurt anymore.”

Sean gaped “Looks like you got beaten halfway to hell, you sorry bastard. What the fuck happened?” Micah spluttered, trying to think of something when Sean’s eyes widened. 

Sean’s eyes darted around before leaning in to whisper “Did… did Arthur do this to you? You said he’d be upset, but I didn’t think-”

Micah growled, flapping his hands to shut him up. “No, no, I didn’t- well, yes, he did, but it wasn’t-” Sean’s head snapped up to stare at Bill a couple strides away. “Bill- Bill, c’mere, lookit this!”

Micah let out a groan, rolling his eyes but flinched when the movement caused his eyes to ache fiercely. Bill stumbled over, still recovering from the night before. When his squinted eyes rested on Micah’s face they flew open, and he let out a soft ‘Woah’.

“It’s not that bad!” Micah insisted.

“What kind of fuckin’ trouble did you get in to?” Bill asked, incredulous. He also lifted his hand to Micah’s face and he swatted it away. What was it with these guys being so touchy?

Sean gripped Micah’s shoulder, but let go at Micah’s twitch of pain. He instead hovered his hand over Micah as though he was about to break. “Arthur did this to you?” He questioned softly.

Bill’s eyes widened and he stared disbelievingly at Micah, who scoffed and tilted his hat down to cover his face. “Why are y’all so surprised?” He muttered. “You know he don’t like me.”

Sean’s expression was starting to look pitiful. Bill had a war of emotions on his face before he decided to glare somewhere over Micah’s shoulder. Micah glanced back to see Arthur grooming Fleance, most likely getting him ready for the day. He looked tired.

Micah faced Sean and put on his best smile; judging Sean’s expression, he wasn’t looking very reassuring. “It’s nothing.” Micah stated, nodding mostly to himself. “We talked it out after-” If hugging and crying then leaving counted as talking it out. “-and everything’s fine, no harm done.”

Sean scoffed “No harm except for your face.” He gave another concerned glance. “Seriously. You look terrible.”

“Thanks.” Micah deadpanned. 

Bill still looked uneasy, shuffling his feet. “He had no right to do that.” He grumbled. “You can do whatever without him punishin’ you.”

Micah looked down nervously. “I- I don’t think he was punishin’ me. Just letting out some aggression, or somethin’.” He steeled himself and looked Sean and Bill in the eyes. “I won’t let it happen again. This one was on the house; he tries it again and I’ll kill him.”

Sean grinned and Bill nodded sagely. “That’s the spirit!” Sean clapped him on the shoulder, drawing a wince, and the two sauntered off, already debating something about lunch; Micah didn’t miss the concerned glances they gave him.

Micah deflated, holding his arm close to him, but his eyes were suddenly flickering in thought.

Kill Arthur..?

He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. He decided to forgo breakfast and instead turned to search for Arthur.

A quick scan around camp revealed Arthur had retreated to his wagon, digging through the trunk at the end of his cot. Micah walked over.

He didn’t announce his presence and instead leaned on Arthur’s barrel, his grooming tools propped up. He adjusted the mirror and surveyed the damage.

He let out a gasp, echoed by Arthur as the man jumped. Micah stared at his bruised jaw, at his blackened nose and the racoon’s mask around his eyes. Dried blood still stained his facial hair, and his eyes were bloodshot.

Micah laughed incredulously “Fuck, Blacklung, how hard did you hit me?”

Arthur’s face appeared over his shoulder, and he watched the reflection as the man’s eyes widened and he cringed. “Didn’t think it was that bad.” He murmured.

Micah shrugged, standing straight and turning to face Arthur. “Me neither. Don’t hurt unless I touch it.”

Arthur looked like he was about to apologize again so Micah continued talking. “Dunno how I’m gonna pull this off lookin’ like this.”

“The job?” Arthur inquired. At Micah’s nod he waved a hand, turning back to the trunk. “It’ll be fine. You can talk anyone into anything.”

Micah hummed and stared at Arthur as he dug. After a beat of silence he said “I’m gonna go clean myself up.”

Arthur grunted and Micah stalked towards the water barrel on the other side of camp. He passed a few of the women, who either gasped or snickered at his face, and Swanson made a horrified choking noise when Micah glared at him. The reverend was already drunk, or high, or both, as he quickly scrambled away from Micah.

Micah scoffed and reached the water barrel. He shouldered off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, dropping his hat as he dunked his face into the cool water and letting it soak for a moment. The river water felt perfect on his hot nose.

He eventually emerged, seeing a few drops of bloody water drip from his moustache. He scooped some water into his hand and rubbed his face, being careful around the bruised spots.

Soon he was clean, his bruises revealed under the dirt to already be coloured a rich, deep purple, with spots of blue around the bridge of his nose. He redressed, adjusting his hat as he walked back to the hitching posts, where Arthur was tacking up Fleance. 

Micah wordlessly grabbed his saddle, clicking to Baylock who was already trotting up. He threw it over his mount’s back, tightening the girth when he glanced at Arthur to find the man staring at him.

Micah made an exaggerated ‘what do you want?’ face and Arthur returned to Fleance. 

Micah mulled over his thoughts as he continued his work. Arthur was definitely acting differently. Colder. Maybe he was just freaking out over what he did? It was strange for him to lose control like that.

On the other hand, Micah was also acting differently. He was being more careful around Arthur. Seeing the anger Arthur still held against Micah was an eye opener. 

Micah shook his thoughts from his head, mounting Baylock and waiting a few moments for Arthur to mount up.

Arthur clicked to Fleance and they trotted down the path to the road. “John’s waiting for us at the auction yard.” Arthur called back.

Micah grunted in acknowledgment. 

Arthur waited a beat for a real reply then sighed. Micah didn’t feel up to conversation. 

The ride to Valentine was tense. Micah felt like his very bones were aching, each step sending another jolt up his spine. He grit his teeth and tipped his head, letting his hat slip to cover his eyes a bit more. 

Soon enough, the duo reached the auction yard. The sweet smell of animals greeted them as they guided their horses around the paddocks and workers. Micah patted Baylock’s neck when the stallion snorted, startled by a pig that had screamed as they walked past. Arthur and his mount were unflinching.

John was leaning against one of the barns, his scarred face nodded at them as they swung from their saddles.

Micah hung back as Arthur steered John up the street, quickly hashing out details. Micah led the horses behind them, snarling at Baylock when the stallion decided to nip at Fleance. The mud squelched uncomfortably beneath his boots. He was looking forward to getting out east, to the dry red dirt of Rhodes.

He had enjoyed Rhodes last time. A chance to test how far he could push Dutch. Those two families were basically begging to be played; Dutch had just needed a push in the right direction. He could still recall the dizzy feeling that had invaded him every time Dutch carried out a plan he had suggested.

Not that he was thinking of doing the same thing this time. No, an unfortunate consequence of pushing the families was the demise of young Sean. Micah could admit, he had grown to like the kid. He was bold and fierce, but still had a good sense of danger. He would have liked him in his own gang.

Again, not that he was thinking of those things.

Micah blinked his thoughts away as Arthur and John pulled away to climb the steps of the gunsmith. John leant against the doorway, waving Arthur into the shop as Micah continued across the road, hitching the horses next to John’s own horse. Micah trudged through the mud to John. He dropped himself against the wall with a huff.

John regarded him silently for a moment, and Micah felt a shiver run down his spine. He reminded himself this wasn’t the John who killed him. He could feel the heat of this younger John, all untempered rage and flitting focus. He kept his breath under control as he glared at the horses across the street.

Soon enough John hummed. “So,” He muttered. “Arthur hasn’t really told me your role in all this. I really think it’s just a two man job.”

“I’m just here to haggle with whoever we sell these sheep to.” Micah snarled. “Not gonna impede you two in any way.”

John ignored his sarcasm, “How did you know we were sellin’ sheep?” He asked, his eyes wide.

Micah hesitated, mentally kicking himself. Fuck, Arthur had mentioned to act surprised, hadn’t he? Something about John not spilling what they were doing out here until the last moment.

“Of course it’s sheep, all that’s ‘round here is sheep.” Micah barked, letting out a laugh to cover his hesitance. “What, you think I’d think we were doin’ something high profile out here?”

John scoffed, crossing his arms and looking out west. “Nevermind.”

Thankfully, Arthur stepped outside before the tense silence could suffocate anyone. He had a beautiful new rifle slung over his shoulder. The gang rarely bought new weapons, preferring to spend their cash keeping the ones they own in top condition. He made a mental note to ask Arthur if he could have it if he wasn’t going to keep it. 

“Alright boys.” Arthur said, stepping down off the porch and into the mud. “Let’s get going.”

Micah fell in behind him without a thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FUUUCCCCKKKKKKK GAAAH IM SORRY. SCHOOL IS KICKING MY ASS. It's my last year of highschool, I'm really trying to get everything right. RIP once a day upload schedule. We'll be lucky if I keep up with once a month. My bad. Luckily, I've got some fun things planned for this fic. Things are coming together!


	9. Micah's eye twitched

The ride into the plains was filled with the chatter between Arthur and John. Micah was only half listening, occupying himself with his guns. He dropped the reins, trusting Baylock to follow the horses in front of him. He was a proud man, but his best piece of work was probably his horse.

He had stolen him a few months before running with the gang. A young horse, barely two years old. Hadn’t even had a saddle on him yet. Something about his striking face stuck with Micah, and soon enough he had stolen the horse into the night. Took weeks before he was able to get a saddle on him, even longer before he could stay on. He had been tempted a few times to just put a bullet in the beast's head, but every time he got up from where he’d been thrown, he was met with cold blue eyes asking him “What next?”

Micah found he loved his horse’s unpredictable and wild nature. It seemed like so long ago since he had found this horse, and after everything, he found himself appreciating his mount more than ever.

He was pulled out of his reverie when Arthur snapped, “Look, just do one thing or another, not be two people at once, that's all I’m sayin’.” Arthur looked tired, but John was already speaking, “It ain’t that simple. You know that as well as anyone.”

Micah subtly put his guns away, picking up the reins as he listened in. John continued on, “Same as you with that girl- What was her name, Mary?”

Arthur snapped his jaw shut. “She don't mean nothin’ to me no more. I let her go a long time ago, I chose one thing.”

John scoffed. “Sure, keep tellin’ yourself that. We are just the same.”

“Will you two ladies quit your fuckin’ squabblin’ and tell me what we’re doin’ out here?” Micah called, a grin pulling at his face when the two men jumped, having forgotten he was behind them. 

“There’s a herd of sheep comin’ down to auction from Emerald ranch.” John said, trying too hard to speak plainly. “Folk in town were sayin’ the owner’s tryin’ to stamp out every farm from here to Annesburg.”

Arthur hummed to show he heard, but kept quiet. The three men rode in silence after that.

Soon enough John spoke again, “let’s head up to the ridge up there. Get a proper view.” The men cut off the main road and up towards the ridge.

“So I’m thinkin’,” John continued. “That the herd’ll make it to auction alright, but a couple of new ranch hands’ll be collectin’ on the sale. Doubt the town will care to notice too much.”

“I take it the rifle is just to scare 'em off, right? I ain’t killin no ranch hands.” Arthur grumbled, steering Fleance up the rocky road.

“Of course.” John snapped. “I just don’t wanna get too close to 'em. Let’s see what we can see from up here.”

They dismounted, pushing through the scrub to the edge of the ridge. Micah was vaguely reminded of the Desert as thorns pricked his hands. He huffed out a cool breath and fixed his gaze on the distant figures of the sheep and ranch hands.

“Put a shot in near 'em, I reckon they’ll hightail it.” John urged. “Just- watch the sheep.”

Arthur muttered but complied, lifting his rifle. The men were silent as Arthur aimed and fired. They watched as two of the ranch hands fled, but one jumped off his horse, struggling to keep the sheep together and calling to the other men.

Micah laughed. “Looks like we got a ballsy one.” Arthur shot him a glare and lifted the rifle.

“Just put in another shot. He’ll get the message.” John had barely finished speaking when another shot ripped through the air.

“There.” Arthur said, straightening up and slinging the rifle over his shoulder. “That’s done.” Micah watched the ranch hand run off.

“Alright. Let’s go round ‘em up.” John said, walking to Old Boy and pulling himself into the saddle.

Micah hoisted himself up and nudged Baylock to follow the others. Arthur was leading them down the slope towards the sheep. “Either of you ever worked on a ranch before?”

John shook his head while Micah scoffed. “Do I seem the type to work on a ranch, Morgan?”

Arthur rolled his head, fixing Micah in a stare. “I’ve stolen livestock before.” Micah amended quietly. “I know what to do.”

Arthur huffed and John spoke. “Most cowboys I know are dumb as trees. How hard could it be?”

“I guess we’ll soon find out.” Arthur stated as they drew closer to the sheep.

“They’re pretty scattered.” John said, looking over the frightened animals. “Let’s get 'em all rounded up.”

Between the three of them, it was quick work. Baylock had never worked with sheep before, and Micah had a hard time convincing him to walk close enough to steer them in the right direction. Arthur and John’s horses seemed to know what to do. Figured, considering one had originally been from the Adler’s ranch, and the other had been bought here in Valentine.

Soon enough, the sheep were all grouped up. Micah lifted his hat, wiping his forehead of sweat. His short hair made it a lot cooler; he couldn’t imagine how hot it was under John’s curtain of hair.

“You know what.” Arthur said, starting to move behind the sheep. “Micah, get up here. John, you ride shank, keep watch for any trouble.”

“I brought you in on this.” John protested.

“It’ll be quicker this way, trust me.” Arthur said as he and Micah moved into position. “This ain’t the right time for you to be learning how to herd.”

John let out a groan. “Alright, whatever you say.” He kicked Old Boy away from the sheep, keeping ahead and to the side of the herd. “I’m done arguing.”

Micah and Arthur moved on each side of the sheep, keeping behind just enough to keep them going in the right direction. The silence was only broken by the occasional ‘Yah!’ or ‘Gettup!’. Once or twice John tried pointing out a few stragglers, only to be silenced with a growl from Arthur.

They made it to town without issue. Micah and Arthur drove the sheep through the streets, watching them stream into the holding pens. Micah took a deep breath, touching his tender face. Showtime.

He slid from the saddle, meeting with John and Arthur in front of two men. Arthur eyed him as John spoke, “Fine sheep.”

One of the men spoke with finality. “They’re ok.” John looked a little put out as Arthur stepped up, “Well, you seen better ‘round here?”

The man held his book close to his chest. “I’ve seen ones with less…” He eyed the three men up and down.”...Ambiguity about their provenance.” Another man near him cut in, “A lot less.”

John snarled before Arthur could quiet him, “What are you sayin’?”

“I’m saying, you give me twenty five percent kickback, and I won’t say nothin’ to nobody.”

John puffed up and Arthur gave Micah a pointed look. Micah slipped an easy smile on his face and stepped forward. “Look, friend, we’re just trying to make ends meet, same as you.”

John blinked in surprise as Micah stepped in front of him, easily taking hold of the conversation. Micah spotted Arthur’s hand on John’s arm, probably letting him know to let the blond handle this. 

The bookkeeper narrowed his eyes, taking in Micah’s bruised and battered face. “Sure, with stolen sheep, huh?” 

Micah let out a soft laugh, “Stolen? C’mon, what makes you say that? These are our own sheep, born and raised. You can see our brand on ‘em.”

The bookkeeper was quiet, tossing a look over his shoulder, trying to decipher the brand under all the wool. The other man who had backed him up was starting to squirm.

Micah carried on, “And what was that about kick back?”

Another man joined them. “Everythin’ alright over here?” 

Micah crossed his arms. “I dunno, friend. I’m havin’ a hard time understanding what your bookworm here is tryin’ to pull.”

The bookkeeper laughed nervously, glancing at the man in the red coat who was suddenly looking suspicious. “I’m not pulling anything. I was just-”

Arthur suddenly cut in, “Seemed to me like he was tryin’ to hustle us.”

The bookkeeper spluttered as the man who backed him up beat a hasty retreat. “Hustle you!?” He yelped, catching the attention of a few official-looking men near the pens.

Micah stared pointedly at the bookkeeper until he noticed the looks he'd gathered. All the men were tense and quiet.

“Look…” Micah hummed, pinning the men in a sickly sweet smile. “...I’ll let this slide. I don’t wanna get any hard working men in trouble.”

The bookkeeper slowly nodded, holding out his hand which Micah shook. “Come back after the auction, you’ll get your money.”

John and Arthur shook his hand in turn before the three turned to mount their horses. They were just stepping onto the muddy road when John let out an incredulous laugh, “I can’t believe that worked.” He muttered.

Arthur let out a tense sigh. “We ain’t in the clear yet.”

John looked confused so Micah cut in, “They’re actually branded with an E, for Emerald Ranch. Just gotta hope those men don’t look too close, or cover for us.”

John let out an understanding noise, but Micah glanced at Arthur, who still looked tense. Micah’s part was over, but they were far from being in the clear.

\-----

After John told them about Dutch waiting in the saloon, the three men rode up and hitched their horses outside. Micah followed John inside, being greeted by the ‘entertaining’ ramblings of Strauss. Arthur greeted the men, pleasantries cut off as Dutch growled, “Where have you been?”

“Workin’.” Arthur replied. “Marston’s thing.”

“Good. And?” Dutch questioned impatiently.

“Just waitin’ for the pay. Look, Dutch, we shouldn’t stick around.”

Dutch blinked, surprised. “Why not?” John looked confused too.

“Er..” Arthur muttered, scrambling for a reason.

“We just ain’t sure if anyone’s caught on.” Micah blurted.

Dutch scoffed. “We are in the business of risk, Bell. We can’t be jumping at shadows.”

Micah’s eye twitched. Fuck, the urge to backtrack, stroke Dutch’s ego and kiss his boots was overpowering. He didn’t need Dutch’s approval, He didn’t need Dutch’s approval…

If anyone saw Micah’s troubles, no one said anything. Arthur managed to spare John, but Dutch still sent Strauss out to check for ‘funny business.’ Whatever that meant.

Arthur, John, Micah, and Dutch were seated at the table, reminiscing about when they first met Strauss. Arthur didn’t touch his drink, and Micah followed his lead. Seemed they weren't getting out of this after all. 

Arthur was glancing out the window every few seconds now. Dutch was frowning, and John had just started to ask what was wrong when a voice called from outside, “Van der Linde!”

“Get out here!” The voice continued. “Get out here now!”

Dutch stood slowly, muttering, “What the Hell…” John shot from his seat, going to glare out the window.

“Van der Linde! You don’t know me, but you keep robbing me.” Arthur slung the rifle over his shoulder, checking the sights. Micah went to the window, staring out alongside John.

“My name is Leviticus Cornwall.” Cornwall called, sitting astride his horse like a king. His face was contorted in anger. “I am not a man to be messed with by the likes of you.”

Micah watched as Strauss was dragged forward, held up by a man who was pointing a sawn-off into his back. “Get out here,” Cornwall ordered, “Before I have this man killed.”

Dutch barely got the words “What do you think?” out before Arthur sprung into action.

“Micah, John. Go out back. Each get to one side of the saloon. Take out as many as you can on my shot” John nodded as Micah pulled out his guns. 

Dutch opened his mouth but Arthur cut him off. “You go out, start talkin’. We just need an opening. Once we get Strauss, we are gettin’ out of here.”

Dutch’s eyes grew dark. “We do not run from things, Arthur.”

“Call it what you want, I’m keepin’ us alive.”

The tension crackling between the two men was enough to cause Micah and John to pause on their way to the back room. Micah glanced over his shoulder to watch. Cornwall was still spitting insults outside.

Dutch finally spit out a venomous “Why not.” Taking a swig from the bottle on the table before stomping outside. Arthur followed him without a glance.

“C’mon.” John muttered, and the two pushed past the spluttering barkeep into the back, nudging open the back door and dropping onto the dirt. Micah cut left while John took the right.

Micah rounded the corner just in time to see Cornwall flee on horseback. “Coward.” He murmured to himself, holding his revolvers up as he slid along the wall. He saw Dutch and Arthur’s shadows thrown onto the ground in front of him.

Dutch started talking. Micah could see as the men on the road turned their attention onto the men on the stairs. He leveled his revolver, aiming at a man who held a rifle pointed at Arthur.

Dutch’s voice droned on but he barely heard it. He barely breathed while he waited for Arthur to make a move. His knees ached.

A shot shattered the silence, followed by Micah’s revolver as the rifle-wielder's jaw exploded. Micah threw himself forward as he shot at the rest of Cornwall’s men, dropping a few before he tucked himself behind a few errant bales of hay.

He saw Arthur jump off the stairs, only noticing Strauss’s crumpled body when Arthur tried hauling him up. Micah covered him as John dashed forward to help.

Shots rang out behind him from Dutch as he downed a few men. “Morgan, Marston!” He barked. “Bell! Follow me!” Dutch strode up the road, towards main street. Towards more of Cornwall’s men.

The order caused both Micah and John to stagger, but Arthur was unphased. He manhandled Strauss’s groaning figure across the street, trading shots with a few men who were quickly approaching by wagon.

Dutch guffawed and John hesitated. Micah’s feet felt rooted to the ground. He didn’t need Dutch’s approval.. He didn’t need… need… Dutch’s approv.... needed… approval… Arthur’s.. ap..proval….

Micah launched himself away from Dutch, after Arthur. John fell in beside him as he passed, the two leaving a bellowing Dutch behind as they darted up the alley Arthur had disappeared into.

“Didn’t think you’d do it!” John gasped, incredulous. Micah shot him an uneasy grin but kept running. 

They caught up quickly, watching Arthur try to hoist Strauss onto Fleance. Seemed the horses had fled down this same alley when the shooting started.

Micah and John darted forward, their presence almost startling Arthur into dropping Strauss.

“Good to see you boys.” Relief was evident in Arthur’s eyes. 

John pushed Strauss behind the saddle before snapping, “Hurry up so I can go to Dutch.”

Arthur nodded, pulling himself into the saddle in front of Strauss. John, seemingly satisfied, darted away towards the shooting. Micah found himself stuck again.

Arthur noticed. “Come with me.” He ordered. “We ain’t done yet.”

Micah pulled himself onto Baylock, his revolver held high.

The two thundered out of the alley, right onto main street. A few dozen men instantly pointed their barrels toward the duo.

Micah stood in his stirrups, shooting men down at lightning speed. His barrel came to rest on John’s startled face and he just managed to stop himself from sending a bullet. John was tucked into the corner of one of the front porches of some shop. Dutch was nearby, standing on the street and glaring daggers at Micah and Arthur’s retreating backs.

Micah saw John run to Dutch, tugging on his arm and yelling at him, gesturing at Micah and Arthur. They were getting farther away, almost passed the hotel. Almost done.

He caught one more glimpse of John and Dutch darting away from the chaos before he snapped his head forward in time to watch a bullet whiz past Arthur’s ear, narrowly missing Strauss’s head.

Arthur swore and Micah raised his revolver, catching a few more men with bullets as they rounded the corner, digging their heels in to spurr their mounts down the last road.

Arthur shot down a few of their pursuers, screaming past the auction yard before cutting across the grass, urging his horse towards the cliff.

“Blacklung!” Micah yelped, gathering his reins to bring Baylock to a halt when Arthur snapped at him.

“It’s ok, there’s a trail down here, keep goin’!” Arthur reached behind him to grip Strauss as he disappeared into a few bushes and dropped down the other side.

Micah let out a shuddering breath but continued forward, watching the branches rip at his jeans before they burst out the other side, Baylock skidding down the gravel trail with a snort.

Micah leaned back, trying his best to help Baylock keep balance as the two slid down the trail, keeping up with Arthur and Fleance, who had obviously done this a few times.

As soon as they touched the grass they were off again, rounding Caliban’s Seat. The dust from the road rose behind them.

They slowed when they crossed the river, their horses' sides heaving, water dripping from their legs and Strauss groaning. Arthur panted and glared behind them, keeping a watch for any riders.

Micah was gasping as well, fumbling as he put his guns away, feeling the adrenaline leave him as he slipped out of the saddle, stumbling to Fleance and reaching for Strauss.

Strauss held his arms out gratefully, trying to help as Micah heaved him off the horse. Strauss cried out in pain as he touched the ground, and Micah drug him away from the water towards a large leafy tree.

Arthur followed behind them, shooing the horses into the denser trees. Micah leaned Strauss against the tree, opposite the river to hide him from view. He sucked in a breath at the damage as Strauss whimpered.

The austrian’s knee was completely blown apart. How he had missed it, Micah didn’t know. It was glaringly obvious now. His lower leg seemed to be barely holding on.

Micah dug in his coat for a bottle of something strong as Arthur blanched at the wound. “We-we’ll get you back, Strauss. We’ll get you fixed up.” His voice shook, and Strauss let out a pitiful laugh. Micah offered a flask of moonshine and Strauss took it gratefully. He managed a few gulps before pulling back, hissing.

“I don’t believe I’m cut out for this type of life anymore, Herr Morgan.” Strauss muttered pitifully, his accent stronger than ever. He handed the flask back to Micah. “I think I should have retired a long time ago. I’ll have to, now.”

Arthur stayed silent. With no shooting skills to speak of, and now crippled, Strauss wasn’t going to last long. No matter how much Dutch wanted to protect him, if you can’t run or fight, you’re done for.

The men stayed there a while longer, watching carefully as a few of Cornwall’s men galloped around the other side of the river.

They stayed until the sun had set, bathing the world in the cool blues of dusk. Arthur nudged Strauss awake as Micah gathered the horses, not wanting to risk a whistle giving away their position.

They hauled Strauss onto Fleance, Micah jogging to Baylock as Arthur pulled himself up. The men set out at a trot across the water.

They stayed off the roads, sticking to the trees. They picked their way to camp slowly. By the time they got there, it was completely dark.

When they arrived, the camp was ablaze with movement. People were packing up, filling wagons and brushing down horses, getting ready to leave. Lanterns swung from every tent pole to illuminate the action. Grimshaw and a few others swept in, carrying Strauss off to be tended too as Arthur and Micah hitched their horses, taking a few moments to check them over for injuries.

“How pissed is Dutch going to be?” Micah asked, breaking the silence that had engulfed them.

Arthur sighed, straightening up from where he had crouched to check Fleance’s legs. “I don’t know. This was all so fucked up.”

Micah let out a soft laugh and came to walk at Arthur’s side as they entered camp. “Can’t be too bad. We all made it, didn’t we?”

Arthur glanced around, picking out John’s greasy head and Dutch’s raised voice from his tent. “I suppose so.” He muttered. “I’d better go talk to him.” He gestured to Dutch’s tent, but made no move to go do so.

Micah stood in silence for a moment before nudging Arthur with his shoulder. “You’ll be fine. He ain’t gonna be too mad, I don’t think. Hosea’s probably calmed him down a bit.”

Arthur nodded, steeling himself. He drew in a ragged breath, obviously holding back a cough, and walked into Dutch’s tent.

Micah stood for a moment before wandering off to pack up his own meager belongings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok lets try for once a week? That seem reasonable? Anyway, I'm getting back into the groove of things. Hope you enjoy uwu


	10. A few freezing tears

Micah never used to dream. His last dream had been in his teens; a frivolous fantasy with a lady who’s face he’d picked up on the road the day before. After that the dreams stopped, or at least were never significant enough to remember. 

Now, he dreamt every night. Usually something without meaning, a continued conversation from the day. Sometimes memories; from his childhood, from his first round with the van der linde gang, from his time with his own sorry excuse for a gang. Sometimes it was just cold snow and hot blood. 

If he dreamt of the Desert he woke up before it even started. One hint of sand beneath his boots and he was pitching into wakefulness, often marching around camp or taking a guard shift to keep himself from returning.

Unfortunately, this time, this was not the case. He knew he was dreaming, the Desert looked just a little too murky, a little too abstract to be real. He reminded himself of that as he stared down the throat of the beast.

It was tearing him apart. Rows upon rows of sharp teeth snapped at him. He wanted to raise his arms to defend himself, but he couldn’t find them. Despite not feeling anything, his heart was still beating out of his chest, terror filling his veins. Blood splattered, obscuring his vision.

Soon he was pitching forward, running. He couldn’t feel the thumping of his feet but he ran slowly, much too slowly, as though he was wading through molasses. Footsteps sounded behind him.

He turned to face whatever was after him. Expecting to see the teeth and blazing eyes, he was struck dumb as he saw John.

This John was bad. This John had short hair and a grown out beard, finally filled out his broad shoulders, his narrow eyes lit with hellfire though his face remained passive. He held a revolver pointed at Micah’s chest and he felt his breath catch as he was blown back, the sound of the shot that had ended his life reverberating through the dry air. 

Micah was suddenly on his back, John standing over him. The desert sun lit up the man’s silhouette, though not enough to obscur the fury written on his face. Micah stared helpless as John beat him over and over, until finally descending on him with rows of teeth and rotting breath.

Waking up was a horrible relief. 

He shot up with a choking gasp, followed quickly by a cough so shrouded in fog he was sure he was staring at the white Desert sun. He kicked his legs a few times, pushing himself against the tree he had slept against and buried his face in his hands like a child.

He sat silently, the quiet sounds of birds in the blue dawn returning after his awakening. He was cold, so cold. He let a few freezing tears drip into his hands before sniffing, rubbing his face with his palms. His face hurt.

He stumbled to his feet, peering over the waist-high bushes and past the trees into camp. Though it was still in the early hours of the day, the camp was awake. They bustled about, packing everything they had left out last night. He caught sight of Arthur walking away from his wagon, shrugging a coat onto his shoulders.

Micah went to follow him, but stopped when he saw Arthur talk to Charles. The two moved to saddle up their horses and Micah frowned. Not invited, then?

He stood for a few more moments, still dazed from his dream. He was sure…

… Ugh, what had he done yesterday?

He staggered through the plants, nearly losing his balance as he burst into camp. He let out a grumble and ran a hand through his hair. His mind stuttered as he found short hair instead of long. Right, he had cut it. Or had Grimshaw cut it? 

He shook his head, sliding through the crowded camp as he gazed around, looking for…

… Something. What was going on with him today?

He was ready to just turn around and get another hour of sleep when he froze, his mind going blank as his eyes rested on John’s skinny frame.

Skinny frame. Or muscled, hardened by months of farm work?

Cropped hair and long beard. Or was it long and greasy?

He had a gun, on his hip, in his hand-

Micah was moving forward, steps quick and afraid as he threw himself at John, snarling and squinting.

John let out a yelp as he fell, echoed as the camp turned to watch what was happening. Micah couldn’t hear them, he was pummeling John’s forearms with his fists, sloppy and uncoordinated but still strong.

John was yelling, his head beneath his arms as he shielded himself. He was yelling at him, at the others to do something. Micah was yelling too, but he couldn’t make out the words. Soon he felt his arms catch on something, strong hands pulling at his shirt and shoulders.

He was dragged back kicking and screaming by Charles and Bill, both much too strong to break free of, yet he tried anyway. He finally started to hear something past the beating in his ears.

“-Didn’t you see, he had a gun-!” He was snarling. Bill let out a growl to his left- why couldn’t he see-? “We all have guns, Micah, What’s gotten into you?!”

Micah snarled in return, finally turning his head more to fix Bill in a stare. “A gun pointed at me, dumbass! He was gonna-” He felt a chill on his lips and Bill’s eyes widened. “Didn’t you see? He was after me-!”

Charles jerked his arm, hauling him up a bit more as Micah whipped his head around, fixing John in a wild glare. The man had been slowly pulling himself to his feet, but when he met Micah’s eyes he slipped, dropping to the ground again.

“What the fuck was that?!” John barked, his face giving away how rattled he was.

“What the fuck was that? What the fuck was that!” Micah snapped, aware he sounded insane. “You was gonna shoot at me-!” He was cut off as John spluttered. He felt Charles turn to Bill.

“Was he?” Charles muttered. 

“Of course not!” Bill rebuked, the tension in the camp making him volatile. “John wouldn’t do that.”

Micah was close enough to hear Bill mutter, “... Probably.”

John finally stood, Abigail and a few others falling forward to fawn over him while the rest of the camp stalked the edges of Micah’s vision, nervous and twitchy. Micah felt Charles and Bill slowly loosen up, and he fought against the instinct to jump on John again, instead snarling, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he blew us all to pieces! Ya’ll don’t know what I know-!”

A few of the gang members gasped, and Micah was pleased to see no one continued to move forward to John. Micah continued, his smile growing sickening. “You haven’t seen what I’ve seen John do- What he’s gonna do to us once he’s out! He’s a rat, a snake, I know it-!””

Charles tightened his grip but Bill loosened farther, Micah barely caught the spooked look Bill shot him- why can’t he see out of that eye-?

John looked heartbroken as a few people stepped away. “I don’t know what he’s talking about.” His gaze warped into something festering and angry. “You’re a liar-!” He barked.

“He’s pissed because he knows I’m right!” Micah laughed, feeling the hands slipping more and more- just a little more- “He’s just waiting for the right time- He probably sold us out in Valentine, it was his job after all!”

He knew he was spitting nonsense, but the camp bought it, and it was all he needed. The camp was unnerved, and John was furious- He lunged forward.

Micah braced himself, ripping his arm free of Charles’ hold and throwing himself forward to meet John.

He was interrupted by a hand on the back of his shirt, pulling him to a stop with a jerk and a frosty cough. John pulled himself up short and looked pained. “Arthur-”

“Everyone calm the fuck down!” Arthur commanded, his hand moving to the back of Micah’s neck, holding him securely. Micah hissed and struggled, the squeeze he got in warning doing nothing to deter him. 

“I know it’s scary right now, but get back to work! We’re leaving soon, we need to be ready.” Arthur’s cold gaze swept the camp and Micah suddenly shrunk, fog dripping from his teeth. He clapped a hand over his mouth as Arthur’s eyes snapped to him. 

Everyone was still for a beat more before John whipped around, stalking off to his tent. The rest of the gang dissolved. Bill was staring at Micah with a strange look before he slunk away as well. Micah’s stomach dropped as Arthur dragged him to his feet, pulling him away from the camp.

Charles intercepted them at the hitching posts. “What about the camp spot you were talking about?” He asked.

Arthur groaned and Micah flinched, shifting a little farther from Arthur’s grip on his arm. “Just-” Arthur struggled to decide. “Just go without me.”

Charles nodded but Arthur stopped him with a hand on his arm. “But be ready for anything, you hear? Anything.” They held eye contact before Charles nodded. Arthur dropped his hand and tugged Micah along out of camp.

Charles stared at Micah as he passed. Micah stared back with dead eyes. 

They were going farther this time. They slipped from the trees and walked along the railroad for a while before cutting down into the lush grass again, the river sparkling in the distance.

Well, at least he could drown himself before Arthur murdered him. Fuck, he had attacked John. Attacked him! In front of everyone! Unprovoked!

Well, he thought unprovoked. But he was so sure…

Arthur pushed Micah forward. He miraculously kept his footing on the ashy ground. He gazed around, the burnt town looming menacingly in the early dawn. He was reminded, somehow, of snowy cabins.

He heard a step behind him and whirled around, arms raised and snarling. Arthur’s face was sullen and he raised his hands placatingly. 

“Micah, I didn’t bring you here to hurt you-” He started, but Micah cut him off with a jarring laugh. “What’s stopping you?”

Arthur’s face crumpled and he dropped his hands. “I said I was sorry.” He muttered. 

“Forgive me for not believing you.” Micah’s voice dripped with sarcasm but he also let his arms drop.

Arthur let them sit in silence for a moment before breaking the quiet, “Why’d you go after John like that? You slipping?”

Micah scoffed, turning and dropping to sit down and stare at the distant river. “No, I wasn’t slipping.” Arthur’s footsteps were soft as he came and sat down next to Micah.

They were quiet. Micah was still so cold. Every breath was laced with frost. “I wasn’t slipping, but…” Micah muttered. 

“... but I was so sure, I knew… I thought…”

They sat a moment longer before Arthur nudged him. “What?”

Micah sniffed. “John was going to kill me again.”

Arthur flew to his feet, his eyes wide. “Kill you!? Again!?” He yelped.

Micah, startled by the movement, scrambled to stand. “Yes, again! You already knew this!”

“No I didn’t! John wouldn’t-”

“Yes, I told you the night we got here, I said John killed me on that mountain-”

“You said he found you!”

“Found me to do what, blacklung?” Micah spit the name out like venom. “You didn’t think it was to have a lovely chat about the weather, huh?”

Arthur let out a shaky groan, breaking off into a low cough. “John- I told John to get out-!”

Micah stalked forward to leer at Arthur’s bowed head. “Oh, and I’m sure he did. Probably had a nice little townhouse of his own before he came to kill me. With Charles and Sadie, and that whore of a wife.”

“Charles and Sadie?!”

Micah scoffed. “Maybe you didn’t leave them clear enough instructions.”

Arthur’s eyes hardened. “Don’t you speak of what I left them. I gave them everything I had.”

“You gave them a dead man on a mountain and a pack of pinkertons on their trail!”

“I did the best I could-”

“Not to mention,” Micah continued, “You left Dutch to deal with all of it! We could’ve been great, Blacklung, If you’d just-”

“I was dying, you son of a bitch-”

Arthur suddenly threw a punch that glanced off Micah’s temple, sending his world spinning. He barely noticed as Arthur pounced on him, grinding him into the ashes. 

Micah saw stars as he clutched onto Arthur’s sleeves, the man heaving him up only to slam him into the ground. He did this again and again, each time sending a cloud of fog out of Micah’s chest.

Micah was jerked forward, inches from Arthur’s sneering face and hellfire eyes. “I don’t wanna hear another word out of your fucking mouth-”

Micah was dropped onto the ground abruptly as a figure slammed into Arthur, kicking up ashes as they tussled on the ground a few feet away. Micah sat up, leaning heavily on his arms as he shook the stars from his eyes.

He looked up to see Bill wrestling with Arthur in the dust. The two huge men were bellowing and pummeling eachother with thick forearms. Micah picked himself up, standing shakily as he tried to decide whether to run or try to fight someone. 

Arthur was screaming, “Get offa me, You don’t know what he’s done to us-!”

Bill was screaming too, “You don’t lay another goddamned hand on him, I swear to god-!”

Micah jumped as a hand rested on his shoulder, whirling around to see Javier and Sean. “Micah.” Javier muttered, “We didn’t want to believe Bill when he said something was off-”

Sean leaned forward, placing a hand on his other shoulder and pulling him away from the brawling men behind him. “We followed yous, as soon as ya left the camp. We didn’t get close enough to hear anythin.” His eyes suddenly pooled with tears. “Damn, Micah, Why didn’t you say he was beatin’ on you like this?”

Micah snarled, tears pricking at his own eyes. “I’m not a beaten housewife, shit, I had it under control.” He glanced behind him to see Bill had Arthur pinned, and Arthur was staring at him with shocked eyes. 

Micah felt torn. He wanted to go to Arthur, push Bill off of him and drag him to camp himself, but he was honestly afraid. Fuck, when had he started fearing Arthur more than John?

Sean was still tugging at him, and he watched as Javier pushed past them to help Bill talk Arthur down. Arthur was still staring at him.

Micah let himself be led away by Sean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oK lEtS TrY fOr OnCe A wEeK, Ok???? Damn, nevermind. Can't hold a schedule for shit. Anyway, lemme just add a tag that says Abusive Relationship because Damn. I honestly didn't mean for them to be this toxic lmao it gets better dont worry


End file.
